THE 


LIFE  AND  BEAUTIES 


OF 


FANNY    FERN, 


NOTHING   EXTENUATE,   NOR   SET   DOWN    AUGHT   IN   MALICE. 


NEW    YOEK: 
II .    LONG    AND    BROTHER. 

121    NASSAU-STREET. 
1855. 


*•"  k 


ENTERED  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  One  Thousand  Eight 
Hundred  and  Fifty-five,  by  H.  LONG  &  BROTHER,  in  the  Clerk's 
Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  for  the  Southern  Dis 
trict  of  New  York. 


Speak  of  me  as  I  am ;  nothing  extenuate, 
Nor  set  down  aught  in  malice.'' 


TAWS,  RCSSELL  &  Co.,  PRINTERF. 
26  Beekman  and  18  Spruce  Street. 


P 


p 


PKBF  ACE. 


IN  preparing  for  the  press  "  THE  LIFE  AND  BEAUTIES 
OF  FANNY  FERN,"  we  have  given  to  the  reader  a  state 
ment  of  the  most  prominent  incidents  in  her  eventful 
career,  which  is  authenticated,  not  only  by  the  testi 
mony  of  her  nearest  relatives,  but  by  communications 
from  her  own  lips.  The  lives  of  distinguished  men 
or  women  have  always  been  accounted  public  property, 
and,  in  narrating  that  of  Fanny  Fern,  we  have  confined 
ourselves  to  simple  facts,  leaving  the  fancy -pictures  to 
be  filled  up  by  others. 

In  giving  selections  from  her  "  Beauties,"  we  present 
the  reader  with  a  bouquet  of  "  Ferns,"  all  freshly 
gathered.  In  so  doing,  we  have  infringed  on  no  one's 
copy-right ;  the  sketches  having  been  copied,  in  every 
instance,  from  the  papers  to  which  they  were  originally 

M135306 


IV  PREFACE. 

contributed.  A  large  proportion  of  them  have  never 
before  appeared  within  the  covers  of  a  book.  These 
latter  are  the  very  articles  upon  which  Fanny  made  her 
reputation^  We  have  given  quotations  which  do  justice 
to  every  variety  of  her  versatile  style.  One  page 
flashes  with  the  keen  edge  of  satire,  another  brims  over 
with  mirth,  and  a  third  is  tearful  with  pathos. 

We  have  shown  Fanny  at  home,  on  the  street,  and 
in  church,  and  have  thus  furnished  a  key  which  will 
unlock  many  of  the  mysteries  of  "Ruth  Hall,"  and 
"  Fern  Leaves." 


CONTENTS. 


I. 

GENIUS  IN  PANTALETTES ...     11 

II. 
FANNY  AT  SCHOOL , 13 

III. 
THE  NEW  NAME , 18 

IV. 
THE  HUSBAND'S  DEATH 20 

V. 
THE  SECOND   MARRIAGE 27 

VI. 
FANNY  FERN  AT  HOME 31 

VII. 
EARLY  LITERARY  EFFORTS 37 

VIII. 
FANNY  AND  THE  TRUE  FLAG -.     39 

IX. 
FANNY  FERN  IN  CHURCH 48 

X. 
FANNY  FERN  IN  BROADWAY 52 

XI. 
FANNY  AT  THE  TREMONT  HOUSE 55 

XII. 
A  KEY  TO  aRuTH  HALL."..  60 


VI  CONTENTS. 

XIII. 
A  WORD  ABOUT  N.  P.  WILLIS 69 

XIV. 
IDEAS  ABOUT  BABIES 72 

XV. 
PRAISE   FROM  A  WOMAN 79 

XVI. 
THE  REMARKABLE  HISTORY  OF  JEMMY  JESSAMY 81 

XVII. 
JEMMY  JESSAMY'S  DEFENCE 85 

XVIII. 
THE  GOVERNESS , 88 

XIX. 
ALL  ABOUT  SATAN 103 

XX. 
WELL  KNOWN  CHARACTERS 106 

XXI. 
HORACE  MANN'S  "OPINION." Ill 

XXII. 
WHAT  FANNY  THINKS  OF  HOT  WEATHER 113 

XXIII. 
FAMILY  JARS 114 

XXIV. 
Two  IN  HEAVEN 119 

XXV. 
THE  PRIVATE  HISTORY  OF  DIDYMUS  DAISY,  ESQ 121 

XXVI. 
THE  WEDDING   DRESS 125 

XXVII. 

Is  IT  BEST  TO  USE  ENVELOPES?..  „  132 


CONTENTS.  Vll 

XXVIII. 
FEMININE  WISDOM 137 

XXIX. 
ALWAYS  SPEAK  THE  TRUTH 139 

XXX. 
MOSES  MILTIADES  MILTON 142 

XXXI. 
TOM  VERSUS  FAN  ;   OR,  A  LITTLE  TALK  ABOUT  LITTLE 

THINGS 145 

XXXII. 
A  LETTER  TO  THE  TRUE  FLAG 152 

XXXIII. 
THE  ORPHAN 154 

XXXIV. 
AN  ANSWER  TO  MRS.  CROWE 160 

XXXV. 
MRS.  FARRINGTON  ON  MATRIMONY 162 

XXXVI. 
A  WHISPER  TO  ROMANTIC  YOUNG  LADIES 164 

XXXVII. 
A  WOMAN  WITH  A  SOUL « 168 

XXXVIII. 
CLERICAL   COURTING 170 

XXXIX. 
WHAT  FOWLER  SAYS 175 

XL. 
THE  OTHER  SIDE... 179 

XL  I. 

THE  GOOD-NATURED  BACHELOR..  .   186 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

XLII. 
CATCHING  THE  DEAR 188 

XLIII. 
HELEN,  THE  VILLAGE  ROSE-BUD 190 

XLIV. 
SINGLE  BLESSEDNESS 200 

XLV. 
THAT  MRS.  JONES 201 

XLVI. 
MRS.  JUPITER'S  SOLILOQUY 204 

XLVII. 
THE  UNFAITHFUL  LOVER 206 

XLVIII. 
PETTICOAT  PARLIAMENT 213 

XLIX. 
FANNY  FERN  ON  WIDOWERS 215 

L. 
AN  HOUR  WITH  FANNY'S  FATHER 217 

LI. 
JOHN  BULL'S  OPINION  OF    "RUTH  HALL.;' 222 

LII. 
ORTHODOX  .TESTIMONY 225 

LIII. 
ANOTHER  FERN 227 

LIV. 
THE  BEST  OF  MEN  HAVE  THEIR  FAILINGS 229 

LV. 
THE  MISTAKE  OF  A  LIFE-TIME 231 

LVI. 
A  WIFE'S  DEVOTION..  .  238 


CONTENTS.  ix 

LVII. 
MRS.  ZEBEDEE  SMITH'S  PHILOSOPHY 243 

LVIII. 
INTERESTING  TO  BASHFUL  MEN 246 

LIX. 
THE  ANGEL  CHILD 249 

LX. 
UNCLE  BEN'S  ATTACK  or  SPRING-FEVER 253 

LXI. 
CONNUBIAL  ADVERTISEMENT 258 

LXII. 
WHAT  FANNY  THINKS  ABOUT  SEWING-MACHINES 260 

LXIIT. 
THE  TIME  TO  CHOOSE 263 

LXIV. 
OUR  NELLY 265 

LXV. 
I  CAN'T 269 

LXVI. 
MRS.  SMITH'S  REVERIE 271 

LXVII.. 
A  NIGHT-WATCH  WITH  A  DEAD   INFANT 273 

LXVIII. 
A  LITTLE  GOOD  ADVICE. 275 

LXIX. 
THE  OTHER  OiNE 277 

LXX. 
A  PEN  AND  INK  SKETCH 280 

LXXI. 
FANNY'S   "RULES   FOR  LADLES." 283 


X  CONTENTS. 

LXXII. 
THE  LITTLE  PAUPER 286 

LXXIII. 
WHAT  FANNY  THINKS  ABOUT  FRIENDSHIP 289 

LXXIV. 
TRUTH  STRANGER  THAN  FICTION 2£2 

LXXV. 
DON'T  DISTURB  HIM 299 

LXXVI. 
A  MODEL  HUSBAND 301 

LXXVII. 
WHAT  TO  DO  WHEN  YOU  ARE  ANGRY. 303 

LXXVIII: 

THE  EARLY  BLIGHT 305 

LXXIX. 
THERE'S  ROOM  ENOUGH  FOR  ALL 309 

LXXX. 
THE  CROSS  AND  THE  CROWN 312 

LXXXI. 
TOM  FAY'S  SOLILOQUY 314 

•LXXXII. 
A  CHAPTER   ON  CLERGYMEN 318 

LXXXIII. 
FANNY  FERN  ON  HUSBANDS 321 

LXXXIV. 
FANNY'S  IDEAS  OF  MONEY  MATTERS 324 

LXXXV. 

A  LETTER  TO  A  SELF-EXILED  FRIEND  IN  THE  COUNTRY  327 


LIFE  AND  BEAUTIES 


OF 


FANNY    FERN. 


i. 

GENIUS    IN    PANTALETTES. 

OAKAH  PAYSON  WILLIS,  the  subject  of  this 
sketch,  was  bora  in  Portland,  Maine,  July  9th, 
1811.  Through  the  negligence,  doubtless,  of  the 
clerk  of  the  town,  it  is  not  recorded  that  the  sun 
stood  still  on  the  eventful  morning,  but  old  house 
wives  tell  a  legend  of  the  cocks'  crowing  with 
extraordinary  shrillness  in  honor  of  this  wonderful 
advent.  She  is  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Nathaniel 
Willis,  one  of  the  most  industrious  and  respect 
able  citizens  of  Boston,  now  a  man  well  advanced 
in  years.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  add  that  she 
is  sister  to  Mr.  IN".  P.  Willis,  the  brilliant  essayist 
and  poet. 

Mr.  Willis,  senior,  "  commenced  life  "  as  a  me- 


12  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

chanic,  and  at  the  time  of  his  marriage  worked 
at  the  case  as  a  journeyman  printer.  He  after 
wards  published  the  Eastern  Argus,  in  Portland. 
Meeting  with  reverses  in  that  city,  he  removed 
to  Boston,  where  he  established,  and  for  many 
years  edited,  the  "  Kecorder,"  the  oldest  religious 
paper  in  New-England. 

Mr.  Willis  has  met  with  a  similar  experience  to 
that  of  most  men  in  his  calling.  He  never  made 
a  fortune  at  publishing.  At  the  present  time, 
although  aged  and  infirm,  he  finds  it  necessary 
to  devote  his  failing  energies  to  the  publication 
of  the  "Youth's  Companion."  Yet,  notwith 
standing  his  narrow  means,  Mr.  Willis  contrived 
— at  how  great  a  sacrifice  only  parents  can  guess, 
to  give  his  sons  and  daughters  that  education 
which  is  a  poor  man's  noblest  legacy. 


II. 

FANNY     AT     SCHOOL. 

TN  accordance  with,  the  course  he  had  wisely 
"  planned  for  his  children,  Sarah  Willis — the 
veritable  "Fanny  " — was  favored  with  an  early  in 
troduction  into  the  seminary  of  Miss  Catherine  E. 
Beecher,  in  Hartford,  Conn.  At  this  well-con 
ducted  establishment — the  most  popular  in  the 
country,  at  that  time — Miss  Fanny  received  her 
first  strong  impressions  of  life  and  the  world.  We 
have  never  heard  her  spoken  of  as  a  very  apt  or 
studious  pupil.  Staid  works  of  philosophy  and 
learning  were  not  much  to  her  taste.  But  from 
the  prohibited  pages  of  romances  and  poems,  eagerly 
devoured  in  secret,  her  craving  genius  derived  an 
active  stimulus.  Already  she  had  become  a  keen 
dissector  of  the  human  heart,  and  she  found  plenty 
of  pleasant  practice  for  the  scalpel  of  her  wit  among 


14  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

the  young  ladies  of  the  school.  Here,  too,  the 
novel  and  startling  experiences  of  boarding-school 
flirtation  gave  thei^  warm  coloring  to  her  future 
life.  Fanny  possessed  a  large  capacity  for  this 
description  of  knowledge,  and  her  writings  show  a 
better  memory  for  those  more  pleasant  branches 
of  female  education,  than  for  the  dry  rules  of  syn 
tax  and  prosody.  In  fact,  the  best  of  her  sketches 
are  transcripts  of  her  school- girl  life — for  Fanny 
writes  well  only  when  giving  the  concentrated  vin 
egar  and  spice  of  her  own  vivid  experiences. 

A  sketch  of  Fanny's,  entitled  "  A  LEAF  FROM 
MY  EXPERIENCE,"  referring  to  her  school-life, 
may,  perhaps,  form  the  best  embodiment  of  the 
earlier  portion  of  her  school-history. 

"  Miss  Jemima  Keturah  Eix  was  at  the  head  of 
a  flourishing  school  for  very  young  ladies  and  gen 
tlemen.  She  originated  in  the  blue  state  of  Con 
necticut,  where  the  hens,  from  principle,  refrain 
from  laying  eggs  on  Sunday,  and  the  yeast  stops 
working  for  the  sarne  reason.  She  had  very  little 
opinion  of  her  own  sex,  and  none  at  all  of  the  other. 
Her  means  were  uncommonly  limited,  yet  l  she 
was  too  much  of  a  gentlewoman  to  keep  school, 
had  it  not  been  for  her  strong  desire  to  reform  the 
rising  generation.' 


FAN  NY    FERN.  15 

<{  In  person,  she  was  tall  and  spare,  with  small, 
snapping  black  eyes,  and  thin,  compressed  lips, 
telling  strongly  of  her  vixenish  propensities.  She 
could  repeat  the  Ten  Commandments  and  Assem 
bly's  Catechism  backwards,  without  missing  a  word ; 
and  was  a  firm  believer  in  total  depravity  and  the 
eternal  destruction  of  little  dead  babies. 

l(  She  had  the  usual  variety  of  temper  and  dispo 
sition,  generally  found  in  a  school,  and  a  way  of 
her  own  of  getting  along  with  them.  She  would 
catch  a  refractory  pupil  with  one  hand  by  the 
shoulder,  and  press  the  thumb  with  such  force  into 
the  hollow  of  the  arm,  that  the  poor  victim  was 
ready  to  subscribe  to  any  articles  of  faith  or  prac 
tice  she  might  see  fit  to  draw  up ;  and  who  of  us 
will  soon  forget  that  old  brass  thimble,  mounted  on 
her  skinny  forefinger,  as  it  came  snapping  against 
our  foreheads  ? 

"  Being  considered  an  untamable  witch  at  home, 
I  had  the  ill  luck  to  be  sent  to  this  little  initiatory 
purgatory.  This  was  unfortunate,  as  Miss  Eix  and 
I  looked  at  life  through  very  different  pairs  of 
spectacles.  The  first  great  grief  I  can  remember, 
was  when  I  was  about  as  tall  as  a  rosebush, — nearly 
breaking  my  heart,  because  a  little  boy  threw  away 
one  of  my  ringlets,  that  I  cut  off  for  his  especial 
keeping.  In  fact,  I  may  as  well  own  it,  I  was  born 


16  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

a  coquette;  and  the  lynx  eyes  of  Miss  Eix  had 
already  discovered  it. 

"  She  always  made  a  chalk  line  on  the  floor  be 
tween  the  girls  and  boys,  that  neither  were  allowed 
to  cross  without  a  special  permit.  Being  aware  of 
this,  I  had  been  in  the  habit  of  making  certain 
telegraphic  communications  with  a  little  lover  of 
mine,  in  jacket  and  trowsers,  on  the  other  side  of 
chalk-dom. 

"  Little  dreaming  of  the  storm  that  was  brewing, 
I  sat  watching  her  one  morning,  as  she  slowly  drew 
from  her  pocket  a  long  piece  of  cord,  and  tested  its 
strength.  Eaising  her  sharp  cracked  voice  to  its 
most  crucifying  pitch,  she  called, 

"  '  Miss  Minnie  May  and  Mr.  Harry  Hall  step 
out  upon  the  floor.'  Of  course,  we  didn't  do  any 
thing  else,  when,  turning  us  back  to  back,  she 
silently  proceeded  to  tie  our  elbows  together  with 
the  cord,  remarking,  with  a  satanic  grin,  as  she  sat 
down,  that  '  we  seemed  to  be  so  fond  of  each  other, 
it  was  a  pity  to  keep  us  apart.' 

"Now  this  was  a  very  cutting  thing  to  me,  in 
more  ways  than  one,  as  Harry's  jacket  sleeves  pro 
tected  his  arms,  while  my  little  fat  elbows  were 
getting  redder  every  minute  from  the  twitches  he 
made  to  extricate  himself;  for,  like  some  bigger 
boys,  he  was  very  willing  to  \)Q&  fair-weather  lover, 


FANNY    FERN.  17 

but  couldn't  face  a  storm.  I've  never  forgiven  him 
for  it,  (true  to  my  woman  nature,)  and  though  I 
often  meet  him  now,  (he  is  a  thriving  physician 
with  an  extensive  practice ;)  and  he  looks  so 
roguishly  from  out  those  saucy  black  eyes,  as  much 
as  to  say,  '  I  wouldn't  mind  being  tied  to  you  now, 
Minnie,'  I  give  him  a  perfect  freezer  of  a  look  and 
'  pass  by  on  the  other  side.' 

"  I  understand  that  MissKix  has  rested  from  her 
labors  and  gone  to  her  reward.  I  wish  no  better 
satisfaction  than  that  she  may  get  it !  " 


III. 

THE     NEW     NAME. 

"DANNY'S  career  as  a  young  lady  seems  to  have 
been  very  lively.  She  recalls  many  amusing 
reminiscences  of  early  flirtations.  Among  others, 
she  led  away  captive  the  heart  of  a  certain  Unita 
rian  clergyman,  the  son  of  a  wealthy  family.  As 
she  affirms,  however,  "papa"  concluded  that  he 
had  learned  the  "Westminster  Catechism  to  so  little 
purpose  as  to  be  no  safe  partner  for  his  orthodox 
daughter.  But,  like  a  large  spare  chamber,  swept 
and  garnished,  her  affections  had  plenty  of  room 
for  a  new  occupant. 

There  were  breezy  walks  on  the  common,  mys 
terious  whisperings  over  skeins  of  thread  with 
handsome  clerks,  until  at  length  the  conquering 
hero  came.  Like  a  sun-flower  in  the  beams  of 
morning,  her  heart  expanded  at  the  warm  suit  of 
her  favored  lover. 

May  4th,  1837,  at  a  period  of  well-matured 
womanhood,  Sarah  Willis  became  Sarah  Eldredge. 
The  fortunate  husband  of  the  yet  undeveloped 
genius,  was  an  only  child — the  son  of  the  late  Dr. 


FANNY     FEKN.  19 

Eldredge,  a  highly  esteemed  physician,  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Boston.  Her  first  child  died  at 
the  age  of  three  years,  but  two  remaining  daugh 
ters,  the  fruit  of  this  union,  now  reside  with  their 
mother  in  New  York.  One  is  about  ten,  and  the 
other  we  should  judge  from  her  Appearance  to 
be  some  fifteen  years  of  age. 

Mr.  Eldredge  enjoyed  a  handsome  income  from 
his  services  as  cashier  of  the  Merchant's  Bank,  the 
largest  institution  of  the  kind  in  Boston.  Now 
we  esteem  the  domestic  virtues  of  economy  and 
prudence ;  but  a  penurious  mode  of  life  is  not  so 
readily  pardoned  as  the  opposite  extreme  of  lavish 
expenditure;  and  the  devoted  husband  of  so 
spirited  a  young  wife  may  certainly  be  excused  for 
"  living "  to  the  extent  of  his  means.  But,  as 
Othello  very  properly  observes,  "  Who  can  control 
his  fate  ?  "  Had  the  young  banker  been  as  wise 
as  he  was  generous  and  indulgent,  he  would  have 
looked  forward  through  the  long,  bright  vista  of 
the  present,  to  that  proverbial  "  rainy  day,"  liable 
at  any  time  to  befall.  In  the  prime  of  manhood, 
October  6th,  1846,  he  was  cut  off  by  a  sharp, 
quick  stroke  from  Death's  remorseless  hand ;  and 
the  wife  and  mother,  awaking  suddenly  from  her 
gay  dreams,  saw  affliction  and  widowhood  descend 
upon  her  like  a  pall. 


IV. 


THE 


THROUGHOUT  the  whole  course  of  Fanny's 
"  writings  we  are  presented  with  frequent  and 
most  pleasing  pictures  of  her  own  self.  Not  only 
does  she  figure  as  the  graceful  heroine  of  "  Ruth 
Hall,"  but  all  her  sketches  have  a  connection 
more  or  less  remote  with  the  events  of  her  own 
life.  The  following  sketch,  as  we  are  assured,  is 
a  description  of  the  death  of  her  husband,  though 
it  contains  one  of  the  customary  portraitures  of 
Fanny  herself. 

"  THE  YOUNG  WIFE'S  AFFLICTION. — A  delight 
ful  summer  we  passed,  to  be  sure,  at  the  

Hotel,  in  the  'quiet  village  of  S .    A  collection 

of  prettier  women,   or  more  gentlemanly,  agree 
able   men,   were   never   thrown   together  by  the 


FANNY    FERN.  21 

necessity  of  seeking  country  quarters  in  the  dog- 
days.  Fashion,  by  common  consent,  was  laid 
upon  the  shelf,  and  comfort  and  smiling  faces 
were  the  natural  result.  Husbands  took  the  cars 
in  the  morning  for  the  city,  rejoicing  in  linen 
coats  and  pants,  and  loose  neck-ties-^  their  wives, 
equally  independent  till  their  return,  in  flowing 
muslin  wrappers,  not  too  dainty  for  the  wear  and 
tear  of  little  climbing  feet,  fresh  froaa  the  meadow 
or  wildwood. 

"  There  were  no  separate  '  cliques '  or  '  sets ; ' 
nobody  knew,  or  inquired,  or  cared,  whether  your 
great  grandfather  had  his  horse  shod,  or  shoed 
horses  for  other  people.  The  ladies  were  not 
afraid  of  smutting  their  fingers,  or  their  reputa 
tion,  if  they  washed  their  own  children's  faces ; 
and  didn't  consider  it  necessary  to  fasten  the  door, 
and  close  the  blinds,  when  .they  replaced  a  missing 
button  on  their  husband's  waistband,  or  mended  a 
ragged  frock. 

"  Plenty  of  fruit,  plenty  of  fresh,  sweet  air, 
plenty  of  children,  and  plenty  of  room  for  them 
to  play  in.  A  short  nap  in.  the  afternoon,  a  little 
additional  care  in  arranging  tumbled  ringlets,  and 
in  girding  a  fresh  robe  round  the  waist,  and  they 
were  all  seated  in  the  cool  of  the  evening  on  the 
long  piazza,  smiling,  happy,  and  expectant,  as  the 


22  LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES     OF 

car  bell  announced  the  return  of  their  liege  lords 
from  the  dusty,  heated  city.  It  was  delightful  to 
see  their  business  faces  brighten  up,  as  each  fair 
wife  came  forward  and  relieved  them  from  the 
little  parcels  and  newspapers  they  carried  in  their 
hands,  and  smiled  a  welcome,  sweet  as  the  cool, 
fresh  air  that  fanned  their  heated  foreheads.  A 
cold  bath,  a  clean  dickey,  and  they  were  present 
able  at  the  supper  table,  where  merry  jokes  flew 
round,  and  city  news  was  discussed  between  the 
fragrant  cups  of  tea,  and  each  man  fell  in  love 
with  his  pretty  wife  over  again,  (or  his  neighbor's, 
if  he  liked !) 

"  It  was  one  harmonious,  happy  family  !     Mrs. 

and  her  husband  were  the  prime  ministers 

of  fun  and  frolic  in  the  establishment.  It  was 
she  who  concocted  all  the  games,  and  charades, 
and  riddles,  that  sent  our  merry  shouts  ringing 
far  and  wide,  as  we  sat  in  the  evening  on  the  long 
moonlit  piazza.  It  was  she  who  planned  the  pic 
nics  and  sails,  and  drives  in  the  old  hay-cart ;  the 
berry  parties,  and  romps  on  the  green;  and  the 
little  cosy  suppers  in  the  back  parlor  just  before 
bed  time  (that  nobody  but  herself  could  have 
coaxed  out  of  the  fussy  old  landlord.)  It  was  she 
who  salted  our  coffee  and  sugared  our  toast ;  it  was 
she  who  made  puns  for  us,  and  wrote  verses ;  it 


FANNY    FERN.  23 

was  she  who  sewed  up  pockets  in  overcoats,  or 
stole  cigars,  or  dipped  the  ends  in  water ;  it  was 
she  who  nursed  all  the  sick  children  in  the  house ; 
it  was  she  who  cut  out  frocks,  and  pinafores,  and 
caps,  for  unskilful  mothers;  it  was  she  who  was 
here  and  there,  and  every  where,  the  embodi 
ment  of  mischief,  and  fun,  and  kindness  ;  and  as 
she  flew  past  her  handsome  husband,  (with  her 
finger  on  her  lip,)  bent  upon  some  new  prank,  he 
would  look  after  her  with  a  proud,  happy  smile,- 
more  eloquent  than  words. 

"He  was  the  handsomest  man  I  ever  saw — tall, 
commanding  and  elegant,  with  dark  blue  eyes,  a 
profusion  of  curling  black  hair,  glittering  white 
teeth,  and  a  form  like  Apollo's.  Mary  was  so 
proud  of  him  !  She  would  always  watch  his  eye 
when  she  meditated  any  little  piece  of  roguery,  and 
it  was  discontinued  or  perfected  as  she  read  its  lan 
guage.  He  was  just  the  man  to  appreciate  her — 
to  understand  her  sensitive,  enthusiastic  nature ; 
to  know  when  to  check,  when  to  encourage ;  and 
it  needed  but  a  word,  a  look ;  for  her  whole  soul 
went  out  to  him. 

"  And  so  the  bright  summer  days  sped  fleetly 
on ;  and  now  autumn  had  come,  with  its  gor 
geous  beauty,  and  no  one  had  courage  to  speak  of 


24  LIFE     AXD    BEAUTIES    OF 

breaking  up  our  happy  circle ;  but  ah !  there  came 

one,  with  stealthy  steps,  who  had  no  such  scruples  f 

to*-  *•••-** 

"  The  merry  shout  of  the  children  is  hushed  in 
the  wide  halls  ;  anxious  faces  are  grouped  on  the 
piazza ;  for  in  a  darkened  room  above,  lies  Mary's 
princely  husband,  delirious  with  fever  !  The  smile 
has  fled  her  lip,  the  rose  her  cheek;  her  eye  is 
humid  with  tears  that  never  fall  •  day  and  night 
without  sleep  or  food,  she  keeps  untiring  vigil  ; 
while  (unconscious  of  her  presence,)  in  tones  that 
pierce  her  heart,  he  calls  unceasingly  for  '  my 
wife  ! '  She  puts  back  the  tangled  masses  of  dark 
hair  from  his  heated  forehead  ;  she  passes  her  little 
hand  coaxingly  over  it ;  she  hears  not  the  advice 
of  the  physician,  '  to  procure  a  nurse. '  She  fears 
not  to  be  alone  with  him  when  he  is  raving,  She 
tells  no  one  that  on  her  delicate  breast  she  bears 
the  impress  of  an  (almost)  deadly  blow  from  the 
hand  that  was  never  before  raised  but  to  bless  her. 
And  now  the  physician,  who  has  come  once,  twice, 
thrice  a  day  from  the  city,  tells  the  anxious  groups 
in  the  hall  that  his  patient  must  die  ;  not  one  dare 
break  the  news  to  the  wretched  Mary !  There  is 
little  need  I  She  has  gazed  in  their  faces  with  a 
keen,  agonized  earnestness ;  she  has  asked  no 
questions,  but  she  knows  it  all ;  and  her  heart  is 


FANNY    FERN.  25 

dying  within  her !  No  entreaty,  no  persuasion  can 
draw  her  from  the  bedside. 

"The  old  doctor,  with  tearful  eyes,  passes  his 
arm.  round  her  trembling  form,  and  says,  *  My 
child,  you  cannot  meet  the  next  hour — leave  him 
with  me.' 

"  A  mournful  shake  of  the  head  is  his  only  an 
swer,  as  she  takes  her  seat  again  by  her  husband, 
and  presses  her  forehead  low,  upon  that  clammy 
hand ;  praying  God  that  she  may  die  with  him. 

"  An  hour  of  TIME — an  ETERNITY  of  agony  has 
passed !  A  fainting,  unresisting  form  is  borne 
from  that  chamber  of  Death. 

11  Beautiful  as  a  piece  of  rare  sculpture,  lies  the 
husband  ! — no  trace  of  pain  on  lip  or  brow  ;  the 
long,  heavy  lashes  lie  upon  the  marble  cheek ;  the 
raven  locks,  damp  with  the  dew  of  death,  cluster 
profusely  round  the  noble  forehead  ;  those  chisel 
led  lips  are  gloriously  beautiful  in  their  repose ! 
Tears  fall  like  rain  from  kindly  eyes;  servants 
pass  to  and  fro,  respectfully,  with  measured  tread; 
kind  hands  are  busy  with  vain  attempts  to  restore 
animation  to  the  fainting  wife.  Oh  that  bitter, 
BITTER  waking!  (for  she  does  wake.  God  pity 
her!) 

"  Her  hand  is  passed  slowly  across  her  forehead ; 
she  remembers !  she  is  a  widow  I !  She  looks 
2 


26  LIFE    AND 

about  the  room — there  is  his  hat,  his  coat,  his  cane ; 
and  now,  indeed,  she  throws  herself,  with  a  burst 
of  passionate  grief,  into  the  arms  of  the  old  physi 
cian,  who  says,  betwixt  a  tear  and  a  smile,  'Now 
God  be  praised — SHE  WEEPS  !  " 

"  And  so  with  the  falling  leaves  of  Autumn, 
1  the  Great  Reaper  '  gathered  in  our  noble  friend. 
Why  should  I  dwell  on  the  agony  of  the  gentle 
wife  ?  or  tell  of  her  return  to  her  desolate  home  in 
the  city ;  of  the  disposal  of  the  rare  pictures  and 
statuary  collected  to  grace  its  walls  by  the  refined 
taste  of  its  proprietor ;  of  the  NECESSARY  disposal 
of  every  article  of  luxury;  of  her  removal  to  plain 
lodgings,  where  curious  people  speculated  upon 
her  history,  and  marked  her  moistened  eyes  ;  of  the 
long,  interminable,  wretched  days ;  of  the  wake 
ful  nights,  when  she  lay  with  her  cheek  pressed 
against  the  sweet,  fatherless  child  of  her  love ;  of 
her  untiring  efforts  to  seek  an  honorable,  indepen 
dent  support  ?  It  is  but  an  every-day  history,  but 
(God  knows)  its  crushing  weight  of  agony  is  none 
the  less  keenly  felt  by  the  sufferer !  " 


V. 

THE    SECOND    MARRIAGE. 

FORTUNATELY  for  the  subject  of  our  sketch, 
her  father,  though  poor,  ,as  we  have  said, 
hastened  to  make  what  provision  he  could  afford 
for  the  comfort  of  the  broken  family.  Nor  did 
Dr.  Eldredge  turn  a  deaf  ear,  or  pass  by  on  the 
other  side.  Some  bitter  thoughts  were  doubt 
less  occasioned,  by  the  remembrance  of  the  luxu 
ries  of  which  she  had  been  so  suddenly  bereft ;  it 
was  hard  to  sink  like  a  star  behind  the  hills  of 
adversity  —  to  pass  suddenly  from  a  gay  and 
splendid  career  into  the  obscurity  of  a  more 
common-place  and  quiet  life ;  and  we  can  excuse 
the  sensitive  Fanny  for  some  unreasonable  com 
plaints  ;  but,  thanks  to  her  own  and  her  husband's 
father,  she  had  the  consolation  and  treasure  of  a 
home— a  home,  which,  however  modest,  was  in 


28  LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES    OF 

every   respect    comfortable,   and    not    altogether 
inelegant. 

Sarah  Eldredge  was  now  in  the  full  flush  and 
vigor  of  womanhood — and  a  widow  !  It  is  a  wise 
provision  of  nature  which  ordains  that  the  most 
deeply  wounded  heart  shall  not  always  bleed. 
Hope  springs  from  the  ashes  of  grief.  Time 
buries  the  dead  past,  and  lifts  the  curtain  from 
the  glowing  future.  Night  comes,  that  another 
morning,  with  all  its  glory  and  freshness,  may 
dawn  upon  the  earth.  Why  then  waste  the 
energies  of  youth  in  mourning  over  graves  ? 
They  will  not  give  up  their  dead ;  already  the 
spirit  of  the  lost  one  looks  down  upon  us  from 
blissful  spheres,  and  says,  "Be  happy!"  to  our 
sorrowing  hearts.  Such  a  voice  came  to  the 
young  widow.  She  called  reason  and  faith  to 
her  aid.  She  saw  herself  still  blooming  and 
attractive;  the  same  inviting  world  lay  all  around 
her ;  she  longed  for  sympathy,  for  change,  for 
life.  Her  first  matrimonial  venture  had  proved 
a  happy  one ;  and  the  memory  thereof  prompted 
her  to  risk  another  voyage  on  Wedlock's  perilous 
sea.  Thus  it  might  have  been  the  very  power 
of  love  that  bound  her  to  her  first  husband  which 
threw  open  the  welcoming  doors  to  the  advances 
of  a  new  suitor. 


FAN  NY    FERN.  29 

Mr.  Harrington,  a  merchant  of  Boston — a  man 
of  energy  and  upright  character — made  an  offer 
of  his  hand.  He  had  himself  enjoyed  matrimonial 
experience — was  himself  a  parent — and  was  well 
qualified  to  sympathize  with  the  young  widow. 
They  sought  mutual  consolation  in  marriage. 
But  scarce  was  the  honeymoon  over,  when  that 
mutual  consolation  was  followed  by  mutual  sur 
prise.  Fanny  learned  to  her  sorrow  that  all 
husbands  are  not  equally  fond  and  indulgent ; 
and  the  bridegroom  discovered  that  Mrs.  F.  No.  2 
wasn't  the  exact  counterpart  of  Mrs.  F.  No.  1. 
The  contrast  was,  in  fact,  so  vast  and  amazing, 
that  it  seemed  to  require  solitude  and  quiet,  to 
consider  it  in  all  its  bearings.  Accordingly,  Mr. 
Farrington.  resorted  to  travel  and  a  change  of 
scene ;  journeyed  westward ;  and  has  not  since 
been  seen  on  the  down-east  slope  of  the  continent. 
The  slender  tie  of  affection  between  the  happy 
pair,  thus  long  drawn  out,  like  a  thread  of  India 
rubber,  finally  snapped. 

At  the  time  of  his  departure,  Fanny  was  board 
ing  with  her  children  at  the  Marlboro'  Hotel  in 
Boston.  Soon  after,  however,  she  removed  to 
quiet  but  pleasant  lodgings  in  another  quarter  of 
the  city. 

Mr.  Farrington  took  up  his  abode  in  Chicago, 


30  LIFE 

and  soon  after  Fanny  was  connubially  advertised 
in  the  columns  of  the  Boston  Daily  Bee.  Then, 
from  the  auction  mart  of  a  western  court,  Mr.  F. 
gave  out  three  warnings ;  cried  —  "  Going !  — 
going! ! — gone  I! !"  and  legally  knocked  down  his 
wife  with  the  hammer  of  divorce. 

Once  more  separated  from  her  husband,  the 
dashing  Fanny  wore  no  mourning  weeds.  Her 
lively  circle  of  acquaintances  found  her  fireside  no 
less  attractive  than  formerly.  Once  more  a  widow 
she  had  learned  to  wear  gracefully  her  honors. 


VI. 

FANNY    FEKN     AT    HOME. 

P ANNY  FERN'S  writings  are  expressive  of  her 
character.  But,  if  possible,  she  is  twice  as  orig 
inal,  spicy,  and  entertaining,  in  her  person  as  in 
her  sketches.  To  understand  her  perfectly,  one 
should  see  her  and  talk  with  her ;  and  to  see  her 
and  talk  with  her  to  advantage,  one  should  meet  her 
on  terms  of  chatty  familiarity  in  her  own  private 
apartments. 

Fanny's  home  in  Boston  is  well  remembered  by 
her  favored  acquaintances.  Introduced  into  her 
unique  parlor,  the  visitor  found  himself  surrounded 
by  pleasing  evidences  of  luxury  and  taste,  charac 
terizing  its  occupant  as  a  woman  of  elegant  leisure. 
A  subdued,  monastic  light,  pervading  the  apart 
ment,  never  failed  to  add  its  charm  to  the  visit. 
Convenient  shutters,  and  heavy  folds  of  curtains 


32  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

robbed  the  saucy  daylight  of  its  too  garish  beams, 
and  by  night,  in  the  still  and  quiet  hours,  a  rich 
shade  surrounded  the  glowing  globe  of  the  astral, 
tempering  its  lustre  to  a  soft,  mellow  effulgence. 

Fanny — as  we  have  hinted — is  just  like  her 
sketches,  only  "more  so."  Bubbles  and  flashes 
might  be  gathered  from  her  conversation,  that 
would  eclipse  anything  she  ever  wrote.  To  have 

her  sit  by  your  side  one  hour,  and sparkle, 

(talk  don't  express  the  idea,)  is  worth  all  the  Fern 
Leaves  and  Kuth  Halls  in  the  world.  Witty  and 
pathetic  by  turns ;  now  running  over  with  fun, 
and  now  with  tears ;  always  sprightly,  always 
plain  and  terse  in  her  language,  she  is  sure  to  en 
tertain  you  for  one  hour  at  least,  as  no  other 
woman  can.  She  will  entertain  you  another  hour, 
some  time,  if  you  choose.  But  the  probability  is, 
you  don't  choose.  Such  women  don't  wear  well. 
Their  conversations  are  like  "  Fern  Leaves" — bril 
liant  enough  at  first,  but  presently  wearisome,  and 
insipid.  Consequently  they  have  a  great  many 
short  acquaintances,  but  no  long  ones.  Their 
friends  are  not  fast  friends.  "We  doubt  if  Fanny 
ever  enjoyed  an  enthusiastic  friendship  which  lasted 
more  than  a  couple  of  years. 

Fanny's  words  are  the  least  of  her  fascinations. 
Her  manner  is  that  of  a  consummate  actress.  And 


FANNY    FERN.  33 

it  is  not  long  before  you  discover  that  she  is  little 
else  than  an  actress.  Her  tears  are  regular  stage 
tears.  If  she  desires  to  excite  your  sympathy,  she 
knows  better  than  anybody  else,  how  to  do  it. 
She'll  improvise  a  "  Kuth  Hall"  story  for  you,  in 
venting  wrongs  and  sufferings  to  fit  the  occasion, 
and  drop  a  few  ready  tears,  like  hot  wax,  to  seal 
her  testimony, — sometimes  sobbing  a  little,  and 
pressing  your  hand  convulsively,  to  heighten  the 
effect. 

Oh,  she  can  be  fascinating  as  Cleopatra.  She 
knows  how  to  thrill  you  with  an  unexpected 
touch.  Then  her  voice,  how  artistically  tender  its 
modulations,  how  musically  mirthful,  how  musi 
cally  sad  by  turns  !  Oh,  Fanny  is  a  great  woman  ! 
She  should  go  upon  the  stage,  or  institute  a  new 
"  school  of  art  and  design  "  for  the  fair  sex. 

Fanny  has  an  off-hand,  dashing  way  of  enter 
taining  company,  which  we  have  never  seen  sur 
passed.  If  you  are  so  fortunate  as  to  be  a  favored 
visitor,  and  to  find  her  alone,  you  may  make  sure 
of  her,  for  at  least  one  evening.  No  matter  who 
calls;  the  haughty  Mr.  A.,  the  foppish  B.,  the 
jealous  and  frowning  C.,  are  all  neglected  for  your 
sake.  "Sit  still,"  says  Fanny,  "and  they'll  have 
sense  enough  to  see  they  are  not  wanted,  and  with 
draw."  Accordingly,  in  a  little  while,  out  goes  A., 
2*  * 


34  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

very  stiffly.  Then  B.  retires,  bowing  snobbishly, 
and  making  insipid  remarks  about  the  weather. 
Finally  comes  poor  C.'s  gruff  and  lowering  "  good 
evening."  And  Fanny,  clapping  her  hands,  and 
laughing  merrily,  rejoins  you  upon  the  sofa,  after 
shutting  the  door  upon  her  last  visitor — and  whis 
pering  a  consoling  word  in  his  ear,  behind  your 
back.  Oh,  matchless,  diplomatic  Fanny ! 

Of  course  the  polite  Fanny  does  the  agreeable  in 
introducing  you  to  her  friends.  But  she  entertains 
odd  ideas  about  names.  Sometimes  you  are  ready 
to  explode  in  convulsions  of  mirth,  at  the  delight 
fully  careless  manner  in  which  she  bestows  upon 
you  some  comic  patronymic,  never  before  heard  of 
in  your  family  history.  To-night  you  are  Mr. 
Pilridge.  Last  night  you  figured  as  Smith.  To 
morrow  you'll  be  Jenkins  or  Jones. 

Fanny  is  consistent,  and  invents  names  for  all 
her  visitors.  You  are  no  exception.  Mr.  White 
is  introduced  to  you  as  Mr.  Brown.  (Why, 
indeed,  shouldn't  a  lady  take  the  same  liberty 
with  her  friends'  names  as  with  her  own  com 
plexion,  and  just  change  the  color  a  trifle?)  Mr. 
Webb  becomes  Mr.  Wing  —  a  mere  difference 
of  a  pinion.  Mr.  Kose  is  transformed  into  Mr. 
Minks, — probably  on  the  principle  that  a  rose  by 
any  other  name  will  smell  as  sweet.  In  the  same 


FANNY     FERN.  35 

way  a  "Walker  is  dignified  as  a  Eyder;  Dix  is 
expanded  into  Richards ;  Eich  becomes  Poore, 
and  French  is  translated  into  English. 

Now  mistakes  will  happen  in  the  best  regulated 
families.  Some  funny  ones  occur  in  Fanny's. 
'Tisn't  so  easy  a  thing  to  remember  all  her  names. 
Accordingly,  forgetting  that  you  are  called  John 
son,  for  this  evening,  you  gravely  address  Mr. 
Howard  by  that  name.  That  gentleman  replies, 
with  a  knowing  smile,  that  Johnson  is  your  name 
— you  laugh,  Fanny  laughs,  and  it  passes  as  a 
good  joke.  Or,  perhaps,  the  other  visitor  has  also 
become  slightly  confused,  and  readily  subscribing 
to  Johnson,  bestows  Howard  upon  you,  by  way 
of  exchange.  Or,  while  passing  for  Smith,  you 
meet  some  one  who  knew  you  last  week  as 
Pilridge. 

Another  pleasant  incident  is  liable  to  occur. 
By  a  coincidence,  you  meet  at  Fanny's  some 
friend  whom  you  astonish  into  silence.  You  are 
similarly  astonished ;  and  observing  no  signs  of 
recognition,  Fanny  proceeds  to  introduce  you. 
You  can  scarcely  contain  yourself  on  hearing 
familiar  Bob  Peters  dubbed  as  General  Buding- 
ton ;  and  he  looks  hugely  tickled  at  your  appella 
tion  of  Rev.  Mr.  Bird. 

One  additional  circumstance  we  should  not  fail 


36  LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

* 

to  state.  You  never  meet  a  lady  visitor  at  Fan 
ny's.  There  appears  to  be  but  little  affinity  be 
tween  her  and  her  own  sex.  "  Cause  unknown," 
as  coroners'  verdicts  say  of  "  poor  deaths  "  that 
occur  through  neglect  of  the  city  authorities. 


VII. 

EARLY  LITERARY  EFFORTS. 

T7ANNY  first  appeared  before  the  public,  in  the 
columns  of  the  Olive  Branch,  sometimes  as 
"FANNY  FERN,"  and  in  several  instances  as  " OLI 
VIA  BRANCH."  We  knew,  personally,  the  good 
old  man,  "frosty,  yet  kindly,"  who  at  that  time 
filled  the  editorial  chair  of  that  paper.  We  re 
member  distinctly  his  own  account  of  some  of 
their  frequent  interviews.  Like  most  others  who 
viewed  Fanny  through  the  enchanted  medium  of 
a  not  too  intimate  acquaintance,  he  was,  in  some 
sense,  dazzled  by  her  fascinations.  Fanny  is  a 
regular  meteor.  You  cannot  choose  but  look  at 
her,  even  if  you  don't  place  much  faith  in  a  light 
so  erratic  and  fitful.  The  bewildered  old  gentle 
man  felt  the  touch  of  those  magnetic  little  fingers 
upon  his  shoulder,  and  looked  up,  over  his  spec- 


38  LIFE 

tacles,  in  absolute  bewilderment,  at  the  thing  of 
smiles  and  tears  standing  before  him. 

No  wonder  that  he  thought  the  sensitive,  im 
pulsive  Fanny  must  be  faultless,  and  sympathized 
profoundly  in  her  execrations  on  hard-hearted 
parents  and  tyrannical  husbands.  ISTo  wonder,  if 
defended  by  such  lips,  the  worse  appeared  the 
better  reason — and  the  price  per  column  dwindled 
into  comparative  insignificance.  Mr.  Norris  was 
Fanny's  faithful  friend.  Already  tottering  toward 
the  grave,  he  was  not,  indeed,  able  to  render  her 
as  much  actual  service  as  the  younger  and  more 
vigorous  editor  of  The  True  Flag,  who  was,  next 
to  Mr.  1ST.,  her  earliest  patron,  but  the  proprietor 
of  the  Olive  Branch  gave  her  employment,  friend 
ship  and  counsel,  which  should  have  secured  in 
return,  at  least  gratitude. 

As  we  have  intimated,  Fanny  had  contributed 
but  few  articles  to  the  Olive  Branch,  before  form 
ing  an  engagement  with  the  Boston  True  Flag,  and 
our  next  chapter  will  be  devoted  to  a  graphic 
description  of  her  connection  with  that  paper,  by 
its  editor. 


VIII. 

FANNY  AND  THE  TRUE  FLAG. 

OCENE,  TRUE  FLAG  OFFICE,  MORNING. — In- 

^  dustrious  Editor  at  his  desk. Enter  dapper 

young  gentleman,  bowing. — Editor,  with  a  pen 
over  each  ear  and  one  in  his  fingers,  looks  up,  nod 
ding  politely. 

Young  Gent. — Are  you  in  want  of  contributions 
to  your  paper  ? 

Ed. — We  are  always  glad  to"  get  good  original 
articles,  sir.  Please  take  a  seat. 

Y.  G. — Thank  you,  sir.  (Sits  down  in  a  Flag- 
bottomed  chair — we  mean,  a  chair  with  a  pile  of 
True  Flags  in  it.)  I  am  not  a  writer  myself,  but  I 
have  a  lady  friend,  who,  although  inexperienced, 
manifests  a  good  deal  of  literary  talent,  and  would 
like  to  try  her  hand  at  an  article  or  two  for  your 
paper.  She  belongs  to  a  distinguished  literary 


40  LIFE     AND.  BEAUTIES     OF 

family ;  tier  father  is  an  editor,  and  she  has  a 
brother  who  is  also  an  editor,  and  the  author  of 
several  of  the  most  popular  books  ever  published 
in  this  country. 

JEd. — Very  well ;  we  should  be  pleased  to  see  a 
specimen  of  what  she  can  do.  (Y.  G.  withdraws.) 

Such  was  substantially  the  manner  in  which  the 
yet  unknown  authoress,  destined  soon  to  become 
so  celebrated,  was  first  introduced  to  our  notice. 
We  should  not,  however,  fail  to  state,  in  this  con 
nection,  that  already  Mr.  JSTorris,  of  the  Olive 
Branch,  had  communicated  to  a  member  of  our 
firm  the  fact,  that  a  sister  of  Mr.  K  P.  Willis  had 
applied  to  him  for  employment,  and  that  he  had 
recommended  the  True  Flag  as  an  additional  source 
of  income.  Therefore,  without  the  calling  of 
names,  we  were  prepared  to  make  a  shrewd  guess 
at  the  identity  of  the  young  gent's  lady  friend. 

According  to  agreement,  a  couple  of  fragrant 
Ferns  were  plucked  in  due  season,  (no  pun  on  the 
word  due,)  and  sent  to  our  office.  We  found  the 
leaves  a  little  coarse  in  fibre,  but  spicy,  and  accept 
able.  Fanny  wrote  upon  a  big  foolscap  page,  in  a 
large,  open,  very  masculine  hand.  The  manu 
script  was  characteristic — decidedly  Ferny — dash 
ed  all  over  with  astonishing  capitals  and  crazy 
italics — and  stuck  full  with  staggering  exclamation 


FAN  NY    FERN.  41 

points,  as  a  pin-cushion  with  pins.  In  print,  the 
italics  were  intended  to  resemble  jolly  words  lean 
ing  over  and  tumbling  down  with  laughter,  and 
the  interjections  were  supposed  to  be  tottering  un 
der  the  two-fold  weight  of  double-entendres  and 
puns.  At  first  sight,  the  writing  looked  as  though 
it  might  have  been  paced  off  by  trained  canary- 
birds — driven  first  through  puddles  of  ink,  then 
marched  into  hieroglyphic  drill  on  the  sheet  like  a 
militia  company  on  parade.  All  Fanny's  manu 
scripts  demanded  a  good  deal  of  editorial  care  to 
prepare  them  for  the  press  ;  her  first  productions, 
particularly,  requiring  as  thorough  weeding  as  so 
many  beds  of  juvenile  beets  and  carrots. 

Fanny's  price — we  mean  the  price  of  her  articles 
— was  two  dollars  a  column.  This  was  readily 
acceded  to  ;  and  the  young  gent  received  the  mo 
ney  for  her  first  contributions — eight  dollars  for 
four  columns — the  morning  after  their  delivery 
into  our  hands.  In  this  place,  it  would  be  inex 
cusable  not  to  speak  of  another  characteristic  of 
the  Fern  manuscripts.  When  purchased,  paid  for, 
properly  pruned  and  prepared  for  the  printer's 
hands,  they  were  invariably  found  to  fall  short  of 
the  stipulated  amount  of  reading  matter — one  of 
her  spread-eagle  pages  nestling  very  quietly  and 
nicely  into  a  few  lines  of  print.  So  trifling  a  cir- 


4:2  LIFE     AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

cumstance,  however,  was  not,  of  course,  to  be  con 
sidered,  in  dealing  with  a  lady. 


ANOTHER  SCENE.  TRUE  FLAG  OFFICE,  TEN 
O'CLOCK,  A.  M.  Editor  at  his  desk,  with  pens  as  be 
fore,  and  an  additional  pencil  in  his  hair. — Enter 
jaunty  bonnet,  with  gay  feathers,  elegant  veil,  rich 
broadcloth  cloak,  and  silk  dress — rather  magnifi 
cent,  if  not  more  so.  Editor  hastens  to  place  a 
chair. 

Jaunty  Bonnet,  (in  a  low,  half- whisper,  under  the 
veil) — Excuse  me — I'm  a  little  out  of  breath,  run 
ning  up  stairs.  I've  brought  Mr.  Snooks  to  intro 
duce  me. 

Mr.  Snooks  turned  out  to  be  a  Fern  manu 
script.  The  jaunty  bonnet  carried  him  in  an  ele 
gant  reticule,  in  close  proximity  to  a  coquettish 
hankerchief,  redolent  of  perfume.  The  jaunty 
bonnet  turned  out  to  be — Fanny  herself!  Mr. 
Snooks  was  for  sale,  and  we  bought  him.  Price, 
two  dollars  a  column — cheap  enough  for  Snooks. 
We  afterwards  dotted  his  i's,  dressed  him  up  a 
little,  changed  his  name— Snooks  was  a  bad  name 
— and  printed  him. 

This  was  our  first  interview  with  the  witty  and 
brilliant  Fanny.  Certainly,  we  did  not  judge  that 
so  gay  and  fashionable  an  attire  had  that  morning 


FANNY    FERN.  43 

issued  from  a  dismal  garret,  in  a  dark  and  narrow 
lane — that  those  well-rounded  proportions  drew 
their  sole  subsistence  from  the  "  homoeopathic 
broth"  of  niggardly  landladies.  Indeed,  no  starv 
ing  necessity  had  compelled  her  to  resort  to  the  pen. 
With  a  true  woman's  spirit,  she  believed  she  could 
do  something  for  herself,  and  determined  to  try. 
"We  liked  her  articles — she  liked  our  pay — so  we 
engaged  her  as  a  regular  contributor.  We  sug 
gested  that  she  should  write  stories,  in  addition  to 
her  sketches — by  which  arrangement  she  might 
easily  earn  fifteen  dollars  a  week.  She  pleaded  the 
necessity  of  finishing  everything  she  undertook,  at 
one  sitting,  and  her  inability  to  elaborate  a  long 
story.  Still  she  desired  more  employment ;  at  the 
same  time,  the  too-frequent  repetition  of  u  Fanny 
Fern  "in  our  columns  would  injure  both  herself 
and  us ;  so  the  matter  was  compromised  by  giving 
her  a  second  nom  de  plume — that  of  "  Olivia," — 
which  was  attached  to  a  number  of  her  sketches. 

Up  to  this  period,  Mrs.  Farrington  had  no  repu 
tation  whatever  as  a  writer,  and  we  purchased  her 
articles  for  their  intrinsic  merits  only,  paying  for 
them  what  they  were  actually  worth  to  us.  As 
her  reputation  increased,  and  her  value  as  a  contri 
butor  was  heightened,  her  remuneration  was  aug 
mented  accordingly.  Although  we  paid  her  five 


44  LIFE     AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

dollars  a  column, — the  columns  generally  falling 
short  one-third,  at  that, — we  cheerfully  gave  her 
her  own  terms,  until,  when  she  demanded  twelve 
dollars  a  column,  we  thought  we  would  just  take 
three  or  four  days  to  scratch  our  editorial  ear,  and 
think  about  it.  In  this  place,  it  may  be  proper  to 
state  that,  at  one  time,  without  giving  us  any  no 
tice  whatever,  she  broke  her  engagement,  and  en 
tered  into  a  contract  with  a  New  York  publisher, 
by  which  she  was  to  write  exclusively  for  his  paper 
for  one  year.  The  terms  offered  were  liberal,  and 
for  her  sake,  we  rejoiced  at  her  good  future.  But 
munificent  promises  do  not  always  lead  to  rich  ful 
filment  ;  and  it  was  not  long  before  Mrs.  Farring- 
ton  gladly  returned  to  those  in  whose  service  she 
had  always  been  promptly  and  handsomely  paid. 

Fanny's  style  was  novel  and  sparkling,  if  not 
very  refined,  and  her  fame  sprang  up  almost  in  a 
night-time.  Messrs.  Derby  &  Miller,  booksellers, 
of  Auburn,  N".  Y.,  had  the  shrewdness  to  see  that 
a  volume  of  her  sketches  would  be  apt  to  make  a 
stir  in  the  market,  and  wrote  to  us  for  information 
touching  her  real  name  and  address.  We  replied 
that  we  were  not  then  at  liberty  to  divulge  the 
name,  but  that  any  communications  directed  to  our 
care  would  reach  her.  A  correspondence  was  at 
once  opened,  and  Mrs.  Farrington  was  offered  four 


FANNY    FERN.  45 

hundred  dollars  for  sufficient  material  for  a  volume 
— or,  if  she  preferred,  ten  cents  a  copy  on  every 
edition  printed. 

Now  four  hundred  dollars  cash,  was  tempting. 
It  would  purchase  a  rich  dress,  a  dashing  shawl, 
"  several  pairs  of  gaiter-boots,"  and  numerous  boxes 
of  those  sovereign  preparations,  noted  for  the  quali 
ties  that  u  impart  a  natural  beauty  to  the  com 
plexion."  In  accordance  with  our  advice,  however, 
(for  we  foresaw  a  large  sale  for  the  book,)  she 
resolved  to  risk  a  little,  in  the  hope  that  much 
might  be  gained,  and  accept  the  commission  of  ten 
cents  a  copy.  The  volume  was  easily  thrown 
together,  being  compiled  principally  from  the  files 
of  the  Olive  Branch  and  the  True  Flag.  It  was 
stereotyped  at  the  New-England  Foundry,  in  this 
city,  and  all  the  proof-sheets  passed  through  our 
hands. 

At  this  time,  Mrs.  Farrington  and  her  youngest 
child,  "  little  Ella,"  boarded  with  a  respectable 
family,  in  the  spacious  brick  dwelling-house, 
No.  642  Washington-street ;  her  eldest  daughter 
residing  with  her  grandfather  Eldredge.  Fanny 
occupied  an  elegant  suite  of  rooms  on  the  second 
floor.  The  parlor  was  sumptuously  furnished ; 
chairs  of  solid  mahogany,  covered  with  velvet — 
with  centre-table,  sofa,  carpet,  &c.,  of  correspond- 


46  LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES     OF 

ing  richness.  The  numerous  visitors  had  no  reason 
to  suspect  that  all  these  luxuries  were  only  poverty 
in  disguise.  Nor  would  one  readily  imagine  that 
the  plump  Ella  and  her  blooming  mother  were 
accustomed  to  breakfast  on  shadowy  dishes  of 
hope,  have  the  same  served  up,  cold,  for  dinner, 
and  then  go  supperless  to  bed.  The  landlady 
had  an  excellent  reputation  for  liberality  and 
kindness,  and  looked  like  anything  but  the  cruel 
ogress  represented  in  Fanny's  writings.  The  fact 
is  —  whatever  may  be  said  to  the  contrary  by 
Fanny  and  her  especial  sympathizers,  —  she  was 
at  this  time  living  in  a  style  of  luxury  and 
elegance  which  would  have  reflected  no  dis 
credit  upon  any  lady  of  fashion.  There  may 
be  some  good  reason  for  concealing  this  sug 
gestive  fact,  but  we  cannot  discover  any. 

"  Fern  Leaves,  from  Fanny's  Portfolio  " — the 
last  part  of  the  title  originated  with  ourselves, 
and  was  adopted  by  Fanny — 'finally  made  its 
appearance.  She  was  fortunate  in  her  publishers. 
Never  was  book  advertised  so  lavishly.  No 
expense  of  time,  money,  or  tact,  was  spared,  to 
create  a  sensation  and  great  sales.  The  result  is 
known ;  Fanny  had  occasion  to  thank  us  for  our 
counsel ;  her  commission  amounted  to  several 
thousand  dollars.  Flushed  with  success,  she 


FAN  NY    FERN.  47 

moved  from  our  sober,  puritanic  town,  to  the 
gay  metropolis  of  New- York.  But  such  reputa 
tions  are  short-lived.  "  Little  Ferns  "  followed, 
and  met  with  but  a  moderate  sale.  A  second 
series  of  Leaves  was  then  published — but  "oh, 
what  a  falling  off  was  there!"  The  demand  for 
the  book  was  quite  limited. 


IX. 

• 

FANNY     FERN    IN    CHURCH. 


"TvUKING  Fanny  Fern's  residence  in  Boston  she 
was  a  regular  attendant  at  the  Park-street 
(Orthodox)  church.  Undoubtedly  this  circum 
stance  arose  from  a  strong  sentiment  of  natural 
affection.  Not  being  on  particularly  intimate 
terms  with  her  family,  it  was  without  doubt  a 
great  pleasure  to  catch  such  stray  glimpses  of 
their  well-known  faces  as  might  be  obtained 
under  the  lofty  dome  of  their  favorite  church. 

It  must  have  been  by  accident  that  she  strayed 
away,  one  Sunday,  from  the  well-beaten  Calvin- 
istic  path  into  the  new  Music  Hall,  to  listen  to 
the  eloquence  of  Theodore  Parker.  We  regret, 
however,  that  she  labored  under  a  misconcep 
tion  with  regard  to  the  character  of  this  church. 
Meting  out  justice  to  all,  we  must  admit  that  it 


FANNY     FERN.  49 

is  the  most  democratic  place  of  the  kind  in 
Boston.  Black  and  white,  rich  or  poor,  alike 
are  welcome.  The  seats  are  free,  in  pursuance 
of  the  old  adage,  "first  come,  first  served."  Not 
here,  as  in  too  many  of  our  churches,  is  the 
Christian  gospel,  "  Son,  give  me  thy  heart," 
perverted  by  the  man  with  the  black  velvet  bag 
into  "  Son,  give  me  thy  cash !  "  The  contribution 
box,  that  terror  to  church-goers,  is  very  rarely 
encountered,  the  expenses  being  defrayed  by 
voluntary  yearly  subscriptions.  But  Fanny,  re 
gardless  of  these  facts,  must  be  held  responsible 
for  the  sketch  which  follows : — 

"Do  you  call  this  a  church?  Well,  I  heard  a 
prima  dona  here  a  few  nights  ago;  and  bright 
eyes  sparkled,  and  waving  ringlets  kept  time  to 
moving  fans;  and  opera-glasses  and  ogling,  and 
fashion  and  folly  reigned  for  the  nonce  trium 
phant.  /  can't  forget  it ;  I  can't  get  up  any  devo 
tion  here,  under  these  latticed  balconies,  with  their 
fashionable  freight.  Now  if  it  was  a  good  old 
country  church,  with  a  cracked  bell  and  unhewn 
rafters,  a  pine  pulpit,  with  the  .honest  sun  staring 
in  through  the  windows,  a  pitch-pipe  in  the  gal 
lery,  and  a  few  hob-nailed  rustics  scattered  round 
in  the  uncushioned  seats,  I  should  feel  all  right ; 
3 


50  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

but  my  soul  is  in  fetters  here ;  it  won't  soar — its 
wings  are  earth-clipped.  Things  are  all  too  fine  ! 
Nobody  can  come  in  at  that  door,  whose  hat  and 
coat  and  bonnet  are  not  fashionably  cut.  The 
poor  man  (minus  a  Sunday  suit)  might  lean  on  his 
staff  in  the  porch,  a  long  while,  before  he'd  dare 
venture  in,  to  pick  up  his  crumb  of  the  Bread  of 
Life.  But,  thank  God,  the  unspoken  prayer  of 
penitence  may  wing  its  way  to  the  Eternal 
Throne,  though  our  mocking  church-spires  point 
only  with  aristocratic  fingers  to  the  rich  man's 
heaven. 

"  That  hymn  was  beautifully  read ;  there's  poetry 
in  the  preacher's  soul.  Now  he  takes  his  seat  by 
the  reading-desk ;  now  he  crosses  the  platform, 
and  offers  his  hymn-book  to  a  female  who  has  just 
entered.  What  right  has  he  to  know  there  was  a 
woman  in  the  house  ?  Let  the  bonnets  find  their 
own  hymns — 'tisn't  clerical ! 

"Well,  I  take  a  listening  attitude,  and  try  to 
believe  I  am  in  church.  I  hear  a  great  many  ori 
ginal,  a  great  many  startling  things  said.  I  see  the 
gauntlet  thrown  at  the  dear  old  orthodox  Calvinistic 
sentiments  which  I  nursed  in,  with  my  mother's 
milk,  and  which  (please  Grod)  I'll  cling  to  till  I  die. 
I  see  the  polished  blade  of  satire  glittering  in  the 
air,  followed  by  curious,  eager,  youthful  eyes, 


FANNY    FERN.  51 

which  gladly  see  the  searching  { Sword  of  the 
Spirit '  parried.  Meaning  glances  —  smothered 
smiles,  and  approving  nods,  follow  the  witty  cleri 
cal  sally.  The  author  pauses  to  mark  the  effect, 
and  his  face  says — That  stroke  tells  !  and  so  it  did, 
for  '  the  Athenians '  are  not  all  dead,  who  ( love 
to  see  and  hear  some  new  thing.'  But  he  has 
another  arrow  in  his  quiver.  How  his  features 
soften — his  voice  is  low  and  thrilling,  his  imagery 
beautiful  and  touching.  He  speaks  of  human 
love  ;  he  touches  skilfully  a  chord  to  which 
every  heart  vibrates ;  and  stern  manhood  is  strug 
gling  with  his  tears,  ere  his  smiles  are  chased  away. 

"Oh,  there's  intellect  there  —  there's  poetry 
there — there's  genius  there ;  but  I  remember  Geth- 
semane  —  I  forget  not  Cavalry!  I  know  the 
*  rocks  were  rent'  and  the  'heavens  darkened,' 
and  '  the  stone  rolled  away ;  '  and  a  cold  chill 
strikes  to  my  heart  when  I  hear  '  Jesus  of  Naza 
reth  '  lightly  mentioned. 

"  Oh,  what  are  intellect,  and  poetry,  and  genius, 
when  with  Jewish  voice  they  cry,  c  Aivay  with 
HIM!' 

"  '  With  Mary,'  let  me  *  bathe  his  feet  with  my 
tears,  and  wipe  them  with  the  hairs  of  my  head.' 

"  And  so,  I  *  went  away  sorrowful,'  that  this 
human  teacher,  with  such  great  intellectual  posses 
sions,  should  yet  '  lack  the  one  thing  needful?  " 


X. 

FANNY     FEKN     IN     BROADWAY. 

TJ A !  there  she  comes,  ISTed  !  "  says  Mr.  Augus 
tus  Smallcane,  lounging  on  the  arm  of  his 
friend. 

11  Mag-nif-i-cent !  "  drawls  Mr.  Tapwit,  putting 
his  glass  in  his  eye.  "  What  a  bust !  " 

"  Isn't  that  a  gait,  Ned  !  " 

"  It's  a-door-able  !  " 

Mr.  Tapwit  chuckled,  to  let  Mr.  Smallcane  see 
that  a  pun  was  intended.  Mr.  Smallcane  recog 
nized  it  with  an  "  O,  don't  now,  Ned !  " 

11  Won't  we  have  a  splendid  sight  at  her?  "  ex 
claimed  Mr.  Tapwit.  "  Crowd  this  way.  What 
a  figure ! " 

"  What  a  foot!  "  adds  Smallcane. 

And  the  gentlemen  continue  to  stare  and  make 
remarks  while  the  lady  passes. 


FANNY    FERN.  53 

Does  she  care  ?  She  looks  as  if  she  liked  it ! 
She  is  none  of  your  feeble,  timid,  common-place 
women.  She  "  goes  in"  for  sensation  and  effect — 
which  few  know  so  well  how  to  produce. 

Fanny  Fern — there  !  we  didn't  mean  to  let  the 
secret  out ;  but  it  is  Fanny  we  mean — is  a  full, 
commanding  woman.  She  looks  high,  steps  high, 
and  carries  her  head  high.  She  has  light  brown 
hair,  florid  complexion,  and  large,  blue  eyes. 
When  she  appears  in  company,  her  color  verges 
upon  the  rosy.  If  you  talk  with  her  in  broad 
daylight,  she  has  a  trick  of  dropping  her  veil,  to 
prevent  a  too  close  scrutiny  of  her  features.  When 
her  veil  is  up,  you  can  see  that  she  has  a  luscious 
cheek,  large  nose,  slightly  aquiline,  mouth  of 
character,  if  not  of  beauty,  and  a  vigorous  chin. 
Fanny  isn't  handsome,  and  never  was.  But  she 
has  a  splendid  form,  a  charming  foot  and  ankle,  a 
fascinating  expression,  and  the  manners  of  a  queen. 

Dress  and  equipage  are  not  the  least  part  of 
Fanny.  She  is  as  dependent  upon  these  as  a  pea 
cock  upon  his  tail.  She  wears  black  because  it 
becomes  her  better  than  any  other  color.  A  wid 
ow  of  forty — fair — in  mourning — how  interesting ! 
Her  magnificent,  sweeping  flounces  occupy  the 
space  of  any  five  ordinary,  uninflated  females. 
She  moves  with  a  great  rustle  and  swell,  majestic. 


54  LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

She  is  preceded  by  her  eldest  daughter,  already 
a  young  lady,  as  a  sort  of  armor-bearer.  Her 
youngest  child,  "  Ella,"  follows  sprucely  at  her 
heels,  like  a  page.  And  so,  up  and  down  Broad 
way,  sails  Fanny  Fern,  proud,  haughty,  ambitious, 
scorned  by  some,  admired  by  many — loved  by 
few. 


XI. 

FANNY  AT  THE  TREMONT  HOUSE. 

r\  OOD  John  Walter  is  Fanny's  man-at-arms.  He 
is  the  last  and  most  faithful  of  her  servants. 
She  needs  some  person  in  that  capacity,  and 
shrewdly  manages  never  to  be  without  such  a 
champion.  She  was  fortunate,  after  many  trials, 
in  falling  upon  so  choice  an  acquisition  as  John 
Walter. 

Fanny  cannot  be  accused  of  choosing  her  cham 
pion  from  any  such  motive  as  personal  beauty. 
John  isn't  alarmingly  handsome  —  not  half  so 
beautiful  as  he  is  good.  Of  tall  and  gaunt  figure, 
with  a  lean-and-hungry-Cassius  look,  bran-like 
eyes,  an  oyster-like  open  to  his  mouth,  fiery  hair, 
an  incendiary  whisker,  a  windy  manner  of  talk 
ing,  and  a  gaseous  atmosphere  pervading  his  per 
son  generally — oh,  no !  Fanny  couldn't  have  cho 
sen  John  for  his  beauty. 


56  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

John's  championship  never  shone  with  more 
dazzling  lustre,  than  on  his  visit  to  Boston,  in  her 
train,  last  summer.  He  came  like  the  very  Napo 
leon  of  snobs.  Boston  was  to  be  taken  by  storm. 
"The  three-hilled  city,"  said  John,  "shall  bow 
down  at  our  coming."  "John,"  answered  Fanny, 
"  I  regard  you  as  a  prophet.  You  are  a  man  of 
sense.  The  three  hills  shall  bow  down." 

They  fortified  themselves  in  the  Sebastopol  of 
the  Tremont  House, — that  stronghold  so  formida 
ble  to  turke}7", — and  sent  forth  their  proclamations. 
But,  somehow,  there  was  no  movement  of  the 
three-hilled  city.  Not  a  block  trembled.  Not  a 
brick  stirred.  Fanny  began  to  chafe.  In  vain 
she  searched  the  columns  of  the  daily  papers,  to 
find  complimentary  notices  of  her  arrival.  Not  a 
word  on  the  subject.  She,  who  expected  a  tri 
umph  equal  to  Jenny  Lind's,  found  herself  of  no 
more  account  in  the  three-hilled  city,  whose  duty 
it  was  to  bow  down,  than  the  wife  of  John  Smith, 
the  joiner,  who  went  on  at  the  same  time  to  hunt 
up  a  second  cousin. 

Meanwhile  good  John  Walter  exerted  himself. 
In  his  windiest  manner,  he  thrust  that  lank  figure 
of  his  into  every  nook  and  corner,  where  he  hoped 
to  generate  a  little  interest  in  his  famous  protegee. 


FANNY     FERK.  57 

"  She's  come  !  "  whispered  John  mysteriously,  in 
the  ear  of  an  influential  editor. 

"Ha!"  said  the  editor,  "has  she?"  and  went 
on  with  his  writing. 

"  She  is  at  the  Tremont  House,"  resumed  John, 
with  an  air  of  vast  importance,  "where  she  re 
ceives  her  friends.  The  rush  to  see  her  5s  very 
great,  and  we  have  to  resort  to  every  means  to 
keep  the  multitude  at  bay.  You,  of  course,  would 
be  a  privileged  one,  and  I  should  be  happy  to 
introduce  you." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  editor,  as  he  dipped  his 
pen. 

"Do  you  know,"  —  John  began  to  bluster — 
"  there  are  vipers  in  human  form,  in  this  city, 
who  have  dared  to  sting  that  woman's  repu 
tation  ?  " 

"I  know  nothing  of  the  kind/'  replied  the 
editor. 

"  You  ought  to  know  it ;  and  I  am  authorized 
to  say  this  :  Fanny  expects  her  friends  to  vindi 
cate  her  character,  and  crush  these  vipers.  There 
is  that  rascal,  Mr.  Blank " 

"  Mr.  Blank  is  a  friend  of  mine,  sir." 

"  But  " — John  waxed  bombastic — "  You  cannot 
be  a  friend  of  his  and  a  friend  of  Fanny  Fern's ! 


58  LIFE     AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

He  said,  in  his  paper,  that  she  has  a  husband 
living " 

"  Which  is  true,  I  believe,"  remarked  the 
editor,  quietly. 

"But  sir"  —here  John  choked — "she  is  a 
woman^  and  no  gentleman  will  make  remarks  of 
the  kmd  about  a  WOMAN, — a  woman,  sir,  is  sa 
cred  ;  and  Fanny  Fern  is  one  of  the  noblest  of 
her  sex.  From  your  character  as  an  editor  and  a 
man,  I  had  every  reason  to  believe  that  you 
would  not  hesitate  to  espouse  her  cause " 

"Mr.  Walter,"  interrupted  the  editor,  "your  as 
sumption  is  somewhat  astounding,  but  it  has  not 
quite  taken  away  my  breath — I  have  still  a  modest 
word  to  say.  I  do  not  see  that  it  is  my  duty  to  go 
and  cudgel  Mr.  Blank,  nor  do  I  consider  the  induce 
ment  you  hold  out,  quite  sufficient  to  authorize  me 
to  engage  in  any  quarrels  except  my  own.  I  will 
not  trouble  you  to  introduce  me  to  Miss  Fern.  I 
wish  you  a  good  morning,  sir !  " 

John  varied  his  manner  with  different  people. 
To  some  he  was  insinuating  and  smooth  ;  to  others, 
bluff  and  lowering ;  but  all  his  efforts  were  unsuc 
cessful.  Nobody  would  go  and  whip  Mr.  Blank ; 
nobody  cared  much  about  meeting  Fanny  Fern. 
And  here  let  us  not  be  misunderstood.  It  was  no 
fault  of  John's,  that  he  did  not  succeed.  He  was 


FANNY     FERN.  59 

sealous  to  the  last  degree.  Still  less  was  It  Fanny's 
fault.  She  was,  as  he  expressed  it,  "  the  noblest  of 
her  sex."  The  truth  is, — and  to  the  shame  of  that 
city  be  it  spoken, — there  was  no  Don  Quixote  in 
Boston  !  If  Boston  could  have  boasted  of  so  much 
chivalry,  Mr.  Blank  would  have  been  cudgelled, 
and  Fanny  avenged. 

Having  utterly  failed  to  create  any  kind  of  a  sen 
sation  • — having  waited  in  vain  to  "  receive  friends" 
at  the  Tremont, — it  was  judged  expedient  to  make 
a  grand  sally  upon  the  town.  An  open  barouche 
was  accordingly  ordered,  and  Fanny,  richly  attired, 
and  attended  by  noble  John  Walter,  rode  ostenta 
tiously  through  the  streets.  A  kind  of  sensation 
was  produced, — but  not  the  right  kind.  People 
looked,  and  laughed,  and  winked.  Some  said, 
"  Lucky  John  Walter !  "  Others,  who  knew  Fanny, 
said,  "Poor  John  Walter!"  Still  Fanny  was  let 
alone ;  nobody  troubled  her ;  the  world  turned 
round,  and  Boston  turned  with  it,  the  same ;  and 
Mr.  Blank  remains  uncudgeled  to  this  day. 

And  so  Fanny  and  the  redoubtable  John  made 
haste  to  evacuate  their  Sebastopol,  withdrawing 
their  forces  quietly,  and  returned,  inglorious,  to 
New  York. 


XII. 

A    KEY   TO    "RUTH   HALL. 


FEENJS  latest  literary  effort  is  the 
production  of  a  novel  entitled  "  Kuth  Hall." 
Much  curiosity  has  been  excited  in  the  minds  of 
the  public  as  to  the  originals  of  her  various  por 
traitures.  It  will  be«fully  satisfied  by  the  perusal 
of  the  following  criticism  from  the  pen  of  an  able 
reviewer. 

"  Wouldn't  I  call  things  by  their  right  names  ?  Would 
I  praise  a  book  because  a  woman  wrote  it  ?  "  —  Ruth  Hall, 
p.  307. 

"  We  have  called  Fanny  Fern  a  literary  star. 
We  should  qualify  the  expression.  There  is  no 
clear,  strong  lustre,  no  steady  splendor,  no  mild, 
benignant  twinkle,  to  Fanny.  She  flashed  into 
our  sky  like  a  meteor,  seemingly  larger  than  Jupi 
ter,  and  for  the  moment  more  ruddy  than  Yenus, 


FANNY     FERN.  61 

more  flaming  than  any  planet  or  fixed  star.  Or 
perhaps  we  should  liken  her  to  a  rocket — going  up 
with  a  great  rush  and  whiz,  then  paling,  dying, 
falling,  and  finishing  up  with  a  loud,  angry  pop, 
and  a  sudden  shower  of  little  fiery  tadpoles,  drop 
ping  on  the  head  of  her  enemies. 

"  The  £  loud,  angry  pop  '  came  with  the  publica 
tion  of  her  last  work,  '  Euth  Hall,' — a  book  that 
appears  to  have  been  exploded  in  a  fit  of  despera 
tion,  to  revive  the  writer's  sinking  fame,  and  to 
revenge  herself  on  her  relatives,  and  everybody 
she  imagines  ever  injured  her.  Fortunately,  the 
rockets'  fiery  droppings  are  harmless  as  moon 
beams,  and  there  is  little  but  hiss,  and  whiz,  and 
crack,  to  its  anger ; — else  some  very  respectable 
families  had  been  blown  to  atoms,  and  entirely 
devoured  and  eaten  up  forever  by  the  fiery  tad 
poles. 

"How  we  used  to  admire  Fanny  !  We  never, 
indeed,  saw  much  to  love  in  her  writings,  but  the 
snap,  and  vigor,  and  originality  of  her  style,  was 
truly  refreshing.  We  could  never  sufficiently 
praise  these  qualities  in  her  early  sketches.  Her 
power  was  partly  owing  to  native  genius,  partly  to 
the  circumstances  of  her  life.  She  was  a  full- 
grown  woman  when  she  began  to  write.  The  age 
of  feeble  sentimentalism  was  passed.  She  had 


62  LIFE    AND     BEAUTIES     OF 

seen  the  world  ;  enjoyed  society ;  known  adver 
sity.  She  had  been  twice  a  wife,  and  twice  a  mo 
ther  ;  had  lost  one  husband  by  death,  and  another 
foy — no  matter  what.  In  years  she  was  forty  ;  in 
experience  at  least  a  hundred  and  forty.  And  all 
this  life  and  knowledge  she  had  kept  bottled  up, 
like  old  wine.  How  it  sparkled  and  foamed  when 
the  wires  were  cut  and  the  cork  blown  out !  She 
poured  off  those  first  sketches,  bubbling,  frothing, 
effervescing,  like  prime  champagne  newly  opened. 
Wine  of  this  quality  soon  deadens ;  but  Fanny 
kept  pouring  out,  determined  to  make  up  in  quan 
tity  what  was  wanting  in  flavor ;  and  now — in 
1  Euth  Hall ' — she  has  squeezed  the  bottle  and 
flung  it  at  the  heads  of  the  public. 

"  Speaking  of  this  queer  book,  the  New  York 
Courier  says,  '  If  the  writer  ever  showed  the  manu 
script  to  her  friends,  they  acted  most  cruelly  to 
wards  her,  in  not  advising  her  to  throw  it  into  the 
fire/  We  think  so  too.  We  have  never  seen  so 
sad  a  revelation  of  a  woman's  heart.  There  are 
some  flashes  of  genius  in  the  book,  but  there  are 
more  flashes  of  that  unmentionable  fire,  supposed 
to  be  familiar  to  wicked  souls. 

"  The  principal  characters  in  Euth  Hall  bristle 
all  over  with  iron  spikes  of  selfishness  and  cruelty. 
The  able  critic  of  the  Boston  Post  declares  that 


FANNY    FERN.  63 

*  art  would  never  admit  such  stony-hearted  mon 
sters  in  a  story  of  real  life/  Now,  '  Kuth  Hall '  is 
understood  to  be  an  autobiography.  That  it  was 
intended  as  such  by  the  writer,  there  can  be  no 
doubt  in  the  mind  of  any  person  who  knows  her 
and  reads  her  book.  Following  this  view  of  the 
subject,  we  have,  first  and  foremost  among  the 
monsters,  Fanny's  own  father.  He  is  the  '  old 
Ellet '  of  the  story — a  man  who  '  thinks  more  of 
one  cent  than  of  any  child  he  ever  had ; '  who 
coldly  leaves  his  daughter  and  grandchildren  to 
suffer  almost  the  extremes  of  want  and  privation ; 
who  would  not,  indeed,  throw  them  a  crumb,  were 
it  not  that,  as  a  church-member,  he  has  a  '  Chris 
tian  reputation  to  sustain,'  and  fears  public  opinion. 
The  caricature  is  gross  and  awful.  Yet  it  is  not 
even  a  caricature.  Fanny  (Kuth  Hall)  has  daubed 
the  hideous  picture  of  an  impossible  character,  and 
scrawled  beneath  it  the  angry  words,  *  This  is  my 
father  !  let  all  the  world  see  and  abhor  him !  •'  0, 
Goneril !  0,  Kegan  !  could  woman's  hate  do  more  ? 
Oh,  dear  and  sweet  revenge  upon  a  parent !  because, 
forsooth,  the  white-haired  old  man,  who,  even  now, 
totters  daily  up  his  office  stairs  to  earn  a  livelihood, 
possessed  too  much  calm  wisdom  to  impoverish 
himself  in  order  that  she  might  sit  a  queen— be 
cause  he  deemed  it  sufficient,  in  all  love  and  jus- 


64  LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES    OF 

tice,  to  support  her  comfortably,  as  his  means 
afforded — because  her  own  indiscretions,  and  ex 
travagant  and  unreasonable  demands,  had  called 
down  upon  her  head  deserved  severity  and  reproof 
— this  is  the  fire  kindled  in  her  heart !  We  are 
sorry  to  speak  in  this  strain.  But  if  we  speak  at 
all,  we  must  utter  what  justice  and  truth  call  out 
of  us.  Even  were  Mrs.  Farrington's  charges 
against  her  father  well-founded,  we  could  not  but 
cry  out  in  condemnation  of  the  parricidal  spirit 
that  seeks  so  devilish  a  revenge. 

"Her  first  husband's  father,  the  late  Dr.  El- 
dredge,  meets  with  a  similar  treatment.  The  grave 
that  has  closed  over  him  could  not  shield  his  breast 
from  the  tearing  claws  of  the  vampire  of  vengeance. 
He  figures  as  Dr.  Hall — just  such  another  unfeel 
ing,  unnatural,  impossible  monster,  as  the  old  man 
Ellet.  Mrs.  Hall  (Fanny's  mother-in-law,  Mrs.  El- 
dredge,)  is  a  slice  from  the  same  raw  material,  with 
the  addition  of  a  little  feminine  salt  and  pepper. 
Fanny  had  an  opportunity  to  write  something  of 
her  own  spirit  in  '  Mrs.  Hall ' — thus  relieving  the 
deadness  of  the  character  with  occasional  sparks 
of  real  human  nature. 

"  Mr.  1ST.  P.  Willis  appears  in  the  book  as  Mr. 
Hyacinth  Ellet — '  a  mincing,  conceited,  tip-toeing, 
be-curled;  be-perfumed  popinjay.'  Like  the  other 


FANNY    FERN.  65 

monsters,  he  lias  not  a  grain  of  heart  in  his  com 
position.  Such  a  burlesque  of  a  gentleman  so 
well  known  for  his  fine  qualities  of  heart  and 
mind  as  Mr.  N".  P.  Willis,  is  simply  disgusting. 
It  is  too  coarse  and  flat  to  be  tolerated  even  in  a 
farce. 

"Other  monsters  in  the  book  may  be  briefly 
alluded  to.  The  Millets  are  the s,  — represent 
ed  as  horrid  people,  of  course,  being  so  unfortunate 
as  to  be  related  to  Fanny.  Mr.  Lescom,  editor  of 
the  'Standard,'  is  the  late  Mr.  Norris,  of  the 
Olive  Branch.  The  True  Flag  is  personified  as 
'Mr.  Tibbets.' 

"  Now  with  regard  to  the  angels  in  the  book. 
First,  of  course,  is  Fanny  herself.  She  is  'Euth 
Hall ' — a  perfect  celestial.  We  are  surprised  that 
any  person,  whose  judgment  was  not  altogether 
swallowed  up  in  vanity  and  egotism,  should  have 
made  so  bald  and  sickening  an  attempt  at  self- 
exaltation.  Euth  is  a  model  wife,  a  model  mother, 
a  model  widow,  a  model  saint.  She  is  very  beau 
tiful,  and  a  great  genius.  There  was  never  a 
woman  on  earth  until  Euth  was  let  down  out  of 
heaven.  What  a  capital  joke,  that  so  rare  a 
creation  should  have  been  born  the  daughter  of 
old  Ellet,  and  the  sister  of  Hyacinth ! 

" '  Harry  Hall '  is   the  name  given  to  Fanny's 


66  LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES    OF 

first  husband.  It  is  a  singular  fact,  by  the  way, 
that  no  allusion  is  made  to  her  second  marriage. 
Why  is  Mrs.  Farrington  so  anxious  to  suppress 
the  fact,  and  the  subject  of  her  divorce?  She 
should  not  have  neglected  so  good  an  opportunity 
to  give  Mr.  R,  what  in  the  vulgar  idiom  is  termed 
1  fits.7 

"Mr.  Horace  Gates,  Hyacinth's  assistant,  on  the 
( Irving  Magazine,'  is  Mr.  J.  Parton,  late  of  the 
Home  Journal.  Mr.  Parton  has  recently  written  a 
book  for  Fanny's  new  publishers,  so  she  thought 
proper  to  puff  him.  Mr.  P.  is  a  talented  writer, 
and  may,  for  aught  we  know,  be  an  excellent 
man;  but  he  is  unfortunate  in  sitting  for  the 
portrait  of  Mr.  Horace  Gates.  We  should  prefer 
anything  rather  than  praise  from  such  a  quarter. 

But  of  all  the  overdone  specimens  of  goodness, 
the  character  of  virtuous  John  Walter  is  the  most 
ridiculous  to  those  who  know  the  original.  John 

Walter   is laugh,    ye  gods!    and   hold    your 

sides  ! — is — but  we  will  spare  the  poor  man's 
blushes.  This  pure  and  fragrant  gentleman  — 
who,  by  the  way,  never  knew  Fanny  until  after 
the  establishment  of  her  reputation,  and  her 
contract  with  Derby  &  Miller,  for  the  publication 
of  { Fern  Leaves '  —  has  since  devoted  himself  to 
her  service,  contented  to  lick  what  crumbs  may 


FANNY    FERN.  67 

fall  to  him  from  her  table,  as  a  reward  for  his 
brave  championship.  He  '  puts  through '  the 
newspaper  puffing  which  heralds  her  books,  acting 
as  her  counsellor,  companion,  and  gentleman 
friend  generally — and  so  she  makes  an  angel  of 
him  out  of  gratitude.  Delicious  John  Walter ! 

"  The  story  of  Euth  Hall  is  nothing.  There  is 
no  plot  whatever ;  no  thread  of  interest  to  hold 
one  to  its  pages.  There  are  some  spicy,  quite 
Ferny  sketches,  in  the  first  half  of  the  volume — 
but  the  rest  is  all  chaff,  filled  in  to  swell  the  covers 
to  a  respectable  capaciousness.  Towards  the  close, 
for  want  of  better  matter,  we  are  surfeited  with 
letters  from  people  nobody  cares  anything  about, 
and  a  tedious  phrenological  examination,  designed 
to  set  off  the  transcendent  mental,  moral  and 
affectional  qualities  of  that  heavenly  creature, 
Ruth — alias  Fanny  ! 

"  The  book  abounds  with  horrors  of  cruelty  and 
neglect — which  all  who  are  aware  in  what  style 
Mrs,  Farrington  used  to  live,  know  to  be  false — • 
until  we  come  to  the  introduction  of  good  John 
"Walter,  when  everybody  commences  laughing. 
Indeed,  such  expressions  as  'said  Ruth,  laughing,' 
'  said  Mr.  Walter,  laughing,'  '  said  Katy,  laugh 
ing,'  'said  Ruth,  beginning  to  laugh,'  occur  ad 
nauseam.  Sometimes  we  have  '  said  Ruth,  smi- 


68  LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

ling,'  which,  amounts  to  the  same  thing.  And  so 
the  book  draws  to  a  verbose  and  feeble  close.  We 
are  glad  to  have  shut  it  up,  never  to  open  it  again. 
We  love  not  these  bad-hearted  books.  Let  us  then 
hasten  to  take  leave  of  this  one,  and  of  Fanny 
Fern,  forever.  It  was  no  agreeable  task  we  had 
to  do,  but  we  have  done  it  conscientiously  and 
faithfully ;  and  here  let  it  end." 


XIII. 

A    WORD    ABOUT    N.    P.    WILLIS. 

AF  the  command,  "Honor  thy  father  and  mo 
ther,"  says  the  Boston  Transcript,  Ruth  Hall 
has  been  a  significant  reminder,  to  those  who 
know  the  excellent  man  vilified  in  that  novel 
as  the  heroine's  father,  and  admitted  in  many 
ways  to  be  intended  by  "Fanny  Fern"  as  a  pic 
ture  of  her  own  father,  Mr.  WiiJis.  How  differ 
ently  he  is  looked  upon  by  nis  other  children  it  is 
a  relief  to  humanity  to  know,  and  we  are  glad  to 
be  able  to  copy  from  the  "  Youth's  Companion,"  the 
paper  whicn  Mr.  Willis  publishes  in  his  declining 
years,  the  following  lines  addressed  to  him  by  his 
son,  K  P.  Willis,  the  brother  of  "  Fanny  Fern/' 


70  LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES     OF 

TO   MY   AGED    FATHER. 

[ON  HEARING   OF  HIS  RECENT  CALAMITY,   IN   HAVING   HIS   OFFICE   DESTROYED 
BY  THE   LATE   FIRE   IN  SCHOOL-STREET.] 

BY     N.     P.     WILLIS. 

Cares  thicken  round  thee  as  thy  steps  grow  slow, 

Father  beloved  ! — not  turn'd  upon,  as  once, 

And  battled  back  with  steadfastness  unmov'd — 

(That  battle    without  fame  or  trump  to  cheer — 

That  hardest  battle  of  the  world — with  care — 

Thy  life  one  patient  victory  till  now  !) 

Faint  has  thy  heart  become.     For  peace  thou  prayest — 

For  less  to  suffer  as  thy  strength  grows  less. 

For,  oh,  when  life  has  been  a  stormy  wild — 

The  bitter  night  too  long,  the  way  too  far — 

The  aged  pilgrim,  ere  he  lays  him  down, 

Prays  for  a  moment's  lulling  of  the  blast — 

A  little  time,  to  wind  his  cloak  about  him, 

And  smooth  his  gray  hairs  decently  to  die. 

Yet,  oh,  not  vain  the  victories  unsung  ! 

Not  vain  a  life  of  industry  to  bless. 

And  thou,  in  angel-history — where  shine 

The  silent  self-forgetful  who  toil  on 

For  others  until  death — art  nam'd  in  gold. 

In  heaven  it  is  known,  thou  hast  done  well  ! 

But,  not  all  unacknowledg'd  is  it,  here. 

Children  thou  hast,  who,  for  free  nurture,  given 

With  one  hand,  while  the  other  fought  thy  cares. 

Grow  grateful  as  their  own  hands  try  the  fight. 

And  more — they  thank  thee  more  !    The  name  thou  leaves! 

Spotless  and  blameless  as  it  comes  from  thee — 

For  this — their  pure  inheritance — a  life 

Of  unstained  honor  gone  before  our  own — 


FAN  NY    FERN.  71 

The  father  that  we  love  an  "  honest  man" — 
For  this,  thy  children  bless  thee. 

Cheer  thee,  then  ! — 

Though  hopelessly  thy  strength  may  seem  to  fail, 
And  pitilessly  far  thy  cares  pursue  ! 
What  though  the  clouds  follow  to  eventide, 
Which  chased  thy  morn  and  noon  across  the  sky  ! 
From  these  thy  trying  hours — the  hours  when  strength, 
Most  sorely  press'd,  has  won  its  victories — 
From  life's  dark  trial  clouds,  that  follow  on, 
Even  to  sunset — glory  comes  at  last ! 
Clouds  are  the  glory  of  the  dying  day — 
A  glory  that,  though  welcoming  to  Heaven, 
Illumes  the  parting  hour  ere  day  is  gone  ! 


XIV. 

IDEAS    ABOUT    BABIES. 

"DANNY'S  sentiments  on  this  subject  are  deci 
dedly  contradictory.  If  one  were  to  read  any 
two  of  Her  articles,  without  a  definite  knowledge 
of  her  circumstances,  they  would  be  at  a  loss  to 
determine  whether  she  is  maid  or  matron.  The 
language  of  the  first  article  which  we  shall  quote 
is  certainly  very  cmfo'-motherly. 

"  FOLLY — For  girls  to  expect  to  be  happy  without  mar 
riage.  Every  woman  was  made  for  a  mother,  consequently, 
babies  are  as  necessary  to  their  'peace  of  mind/  as  health. 
If  you  wish  to  look  at  melancholy  and  indigestion,  look  at  an 
old  maid.  If  you  would  take  a  peep  at  sunshine,  look  in  the 
face  of  a  young  mother." 

"  Now  I  won't  stand  that!  I'm  an  old  maid  my 
self;  and  I'm  neither  melancholy  nor  indigestible ! 
My  'PIECE  of  mind'  I'm  going  to  give  you,  (in  a 
minute !)  and  I  never  want  to  touch  a  baby  except 


FANNY    FERN.  73 

with  a  pair  of  tongs  !  '  Young  mothers  and  sun 
shine  ! '  Worn  to  fiddle-strings  before  they  are 
twenty-five !  AYhen  an  old  lover  turns  up  he 
thinks  he  sees  his  grandmother,  instead  of  the 
dear  little  Mary  who  used  to  make  him  feel  as  if 
he  should  crawl  out  of  the  toes  of  his  boots !  Yes ! 
my  mind  is  quite  made  up  about  matrimony ;  but 
as  to  the  '  babies?  (sometimes  I  think,  and  then 
again  I  don't  know !)  but  on  the  whole  I  believe  I 
consider  'em  a  d ecided  humbug!  It's  a  one 
sided  partnership,  this  marriage !  the  wife  casts  up 
all  the  accounts  ! 

"  '  Husband  '  gets  up  in  the  morning  and  pays 
his  *  devours '  to  the  looking-glass  ;  curls  his  fine 
head  of  hair;  puts  on  an  immaculate  shirt-bosom; 
ties  an  excruciating  cravat ;  sprinkles  his  handker 
chief  with  cologne  ;  stows  away  a  French  roll,  an 
egg,  and  a  cup  of  coffee ;  gets  into  the  omnibus, 
looks  slantendicular  at  the  pretty  girls,  and  makes 
love  between  the  pauses  of  business  during  the 
forenoon  generally.  Wife  must  'hermetically  seal' 
the  windows  and  exclude  all  the  fresh  air,  (be 
cause  the  baby  had  the  'snuffles'  in  the  night;) 
and  sits  gasping  down  to  the  table  more  dead  than 
alive,  to  finish  her  breakfast.  Tommy  turns  a 
cup  of  hot  coffee  down  his  bosom  ;  Juliana  has 
torn  off  the  string  of  her  school-bonnet ;  James 
4 


74  LIFE     AND    BEAUTIES     OF 

'wants  his  geography  covered;'  Eliza  can't  find 
her  satchel;  the  butcher  wants  to  know  if  she'd 
like  a  joint  of  mutton  ;  the  milkman  would  like 
his  money  ;  the  ice  man  wants  to  speak  to  her 
'just  a  minute; '  the  baby  swallows  a  bean  ;  hus 
band  sends  the  boy  home  from  the  store  to  say  his 
partner  will  dine  with  him ;  the  cook  leaves  '  all 
flying,'  to  go  to  her  'sister's  dead  baby's  wake,' 
and  husband's  thin  coat  must  be  ironed  before 
noon.  l  Sunshine  and  young  mothers  !  ! '  Where's 
my  smelling-bottle  ?  " 

To  the  foregoing  denunciation  of  the  infant- 
angels,  the  following  defence  furnishes  quite  a 
decided  contrast. 

"  Baby-carts  on  narrow  side-walks  are  awful  bores;  espe 
cially  to  a  hurried  business  man." 

"  Are  they?  Suppose  you,  and  a  certain  pair 
of  blue  eyes,  that  you  would  give  half  your  patri 
mony  to  win,  were  joint  proprietors  of  that  baby! 
/shouldn't  dare  to  stand  very  near  you,  and  call  it 
'a  nuisance.'  It's  all  very  well  for  bachelors  to 
turn  up  their  single  blessed  noses  at  these  little  dim 
pled  Cupids;  but  just  wait  till  their  time  comes! 
See  'ern,  the  minute  their  name  is  written  '  Papa,' 
pull  up  their  dickies,  and  strut  off  down  street, 


FANNY    FERN.  75 

as  if  the  Commonwealth  owed  them  a  pension  ! 
When  they  enter  the  office,  see  their  old  married 
partner  (to  whom  babies  have  long  since  ceased  to 
be  a  novelty)  laugh  in  his  sleeve  at  the  new- 
fledged  dignity  with  which  that  baby's  advent  is 
announced!  How  perfectly  astonished  they  feel 
that  they  should  have  been  so  infatuated  as  not  to 
perceive  that  a  man  is  a  perfect  cypher  till  he  is  at 
the  head  of  a  family  !  How  frequently  one  may 
see  them  now,  looking  in  at  the  shop  windows, 
with  intense  interest,  at  little  hats,  coral  and  bells, 
and  baby-j  umpers.  How  they  love  to  come  home 
to  dinner,  and  press  that  little  velvet  cheek  to 
their  business  faces  !  Was  there  ever  music  half  so 
sweet  to  their  ear,  as  its  first  lisped  '  Papa '  f  Oh, 
how  closely  and  imperceptibly,  one  by  one,  that 
little  plant  winds  its  tendrils  round  the  parent 
stem!  How  anxiously  they  hang  over  its  cradle 
when  the  cheek  flushes  and  the  lip  is  fever- 
parched  ;  and  how  wide,  and  deep,  and  long  a 
shadow  in  their  happy  homes,  its  little  grave  would 
cast! 

"  My  DEAR  sir,  depend  upon  it,  one's  own  baby  is 
never  '  a  nuisance?     Love  heralds  its  birth." 

It's  just  possible  though,  that  Fanny  may  be 
actuated  by  a  spirit  of  sheer  contradiction ;  for, 


76  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

happening  in  some  of  her  readings,  to  come  across 
Tapper's  declaration,  that 

"  A  babe  in  the  house  is  a  well-spring  of  pleasure," 

she  takes  up  the  gauntlet,  and  holds  forth  in  the 
following  vigorous  style: — 

"Now,  Mr.  Tapper,  allow  me  to  ask  you,  did 
you  ever  own  a  baby  ?  I  meant  to  say,  did  you 
ever  have  one  ?  Because  I  knew  a  woman  once  that 
had  j  and  shall  use  the  privilege  of  an  American 
'  star  and  stripe"1  female,  to  tell  you  that  that  English 
sentiment  of  yours,  won't  pass  this-side  the  water  ! 

"  Ain't  we  a  LITTLE  the  smartest  people  on  the 
face  of  the  earth  ?  and  if  any  country  could  grow 
decent  babies,  wouldn't  it  be  America  ?  Yes,  SIR  ! 
but  I  tell  you,  it's  my  solemn  conviction  that  they 
are  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  '  well-spring  '  of 
botheration,  wherever  they  are  raised.  Don't  / 
know  ?  Didn't  that  shapeless,  flimsy,  flappy  little 
nuisance  I  allude  to,  rule  the  house  from  garret  to 
cellar  before  it  was  a  month  old  ?  Wasn't  it  en 
tirely  at  its  option,  whether  the  mother  dined  at  2 
o'clock  at  noon,  or  2  at  night  ?  In  fact,  whether 
she  dined  at  all?  Didn't  the  little  wretch  keep  its 
lack-lustre  eyes  fixed  on  her,  and  the  minute  she 
turned  her  back  upon  it  and  moved  towards  the 


FANNY     FERN.  77 

door,  contrive  to  poke  one  eye  half  out  with  its 
fist,  or  get  its  toes  twisted  into  a  knot,  or  some 
such  infantile  stratagem  to  attract  attention? 
Didn't  it  know,  by  instinct,  whenever  she  had  an 
invitation  to  ride,  or  walk,  or  visit  ?  and  get  up  a 
fit  of  sham  distress  to  knock  it  all  in  the  head? 
Didn't  she  throw  away  dozens  of  pairs  of  good  shoes 
because  they  creaked  ?  Did  she  ever  know  what 
she  was  to  be  allowed  to  do  the  next  minute  ? 

"  '  Well  spring  of  pleasure ! '  Ha  !  ha  !  Ask  her 
husband,  Tom!  Didn't  he  have  to  emigrate  up 
two  flights  of  stairs  because  it  screeched  so  inces 
santly  nights,  that  it  unfitted  him  for  business  next 
day  ?  He's  very  fond  of  babies  ;  HE  is  ! 

"  Well,  Mr.  Tupper,  we  won't  mention  creeping 
time — when  skeins  of  yarn,  and  pins,  and  darning 
needles  are  swallowed,  with  a  horrifying  ravenous- 
ness  suggestive  of  a  '  stomach  pump  ; '  or  its  first 
essays  at  walking,  when  it  navigates  the  carpet 
like  a  sailor  fresh  from  '  board  ship  ; '  raising  bumps 
never  marked  down  on  any  phrenological  chart ! 
or  clutching  at  the  corner  of  the  tablecloth,  drag 
ging  off  inkstands,  vases,  annuals,  and  'Proverbial 
Philosophy  s, '  with  an  edifying  promiscuousness  ! 
Then,  making  for  the  open  door,  and  taking  a  '  fly 
ing  leap '  down  two  pairs  of  stairs,  to  the  aston 
ishment  of  John,  Betty  and  Sally ! 


78  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Martin  Farquhar  Topper,  '  philoso 
phize  '  as  beautifully  as  only  you  know  how,  but 
take  an  American  woman^s  advice,  and  don't  men 
tion  babies  !  unless  you'll  sketch  from  life  as  /  do  ! 
You  needn't  stand  up  for  English  babies ;  they're 
all  alike,  from  Queen  Victoria's  DOWN  to  Miko 
O'Flaherty's,  or  UP  to  American  babies ! 

"  I'm  astonished  at  you,  Mr.  Tupper  !  a  poet,  and 
a  HANDSOME  poet,  too  !  !  I'm  surprised,  /  am !  " 


XV. 

PRAISE    FKOM    A    WOMAN. 

"DANNY  always  was  grateful.  This  well-known 
•  fact  is  humorously  exemplified  in  the  following 
article,  referring  to  Mrs.  H.  Marion  Stephens.  This 
lady,  in  her  "  Town-Talk,"  for  the  Boston  Times, 
made  a  few  graceful  allusions  to  Fanny's  wit  and 
genius,  and  this  friendly  tribute  gave  birth  to 

"MISS  FANNY  FIDDLESTICK'S  SOLILOQUY, 

"ON  READING  A  COMPLIMENTARY  NOTICE  OF  HERSELF,  BY  A  LADY. 

"  Praise  from  a  woman  !  "What  did  I  ever  do 
to  injure  her,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  There's  something 
behind  that !  If  she  had  abused  me  now,  I  should 
have  been  as  placid  as  an  oyster.  Here,  pussy, 
come  taste  this  cup  of  tea  for  me ;  I'll  give  you  ten 
minutes  to  repent  of  all  your  feline  flirtations,  on 
that  back  shed,  with  promisJcus  Grimalkins ;  for 


80  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

ten  to  one  you'll  keel  over  in  a  fit  as  soon  as 
you've  swallowed  it.  I  don't  touch  it  till  I  know 
whether  it's  poisoned  or  not.  There's  more  cats 
than  Ferns  in  the  world,  and  complimentary  noti 
ces  from  a  female  woman  look  suspicious.  I  shall 
be  up  and  dressed,  now  I  tell  you.  There's  a 
bundle  just  come  in.  When  I  open  it  alone,  I 
guess  you'll  know  it;  I've  heard  of  infernal  ma 
chines  before  to-day.  I  don't  touch  it  off  without 
a  minister  and  Marshal  Tukey,  I  promise  you. 
Praise  from  a  woman !  Oh,  this  Fanny  isn't  ver 
dant,  if  she  is  a  Fern  !  There's  something  behind 
it !  When  a  woman  pats  you  with  one  hand  you 
may  be  morally  certain  she's  going  to  scratch  you 
with  the  other.  Here; — hands  off !  clear  the  track 
of  all  petticoats  !  I'm  going  to  the  pistol  gallery 
to  take  lessons  in  shooting.  That  complimentary 
notice  is  the  fore  end  of  a  runner  of  something." 


XVI. 


THE     REMARKABLE     HISTORY    OP 
JEMMY    JESSAMY. 

JEMMY  JESSAMY,"  writes  Fanny  Fern,  "was 
a  double-distilled  old  bachelor.  He  had  occu 
pied  the  same  quarters  at Hotel  for  five-and- 

twenty  years.  The  chamber-maid  that  '  cleared 
up '  No.  25,  dared  not,  at  the  price  of  her  scalp, 
misplace  a  boot  or  a  tooth-brush.  If  his  breakfast 
was  brought  up  five  minutes  before  the  time,  it 
was  ordered  down  again — and  woe  to  the  luckless 
waiter  who  brought  him  hot  water  when  he  spoke 
for  cold,  or  failed  to  transmit,  with  telegraphic 
speed,  any  card  or  parcel  left  at  the  bar.  The  first 
thing  he  knew  he  didn't  know  nothing.  In  other 
words,  Jemmy  saved  him  the  trouble  of  going 
down  stairs,  by  landing  him,  'on  his  own  hook/ 
(nolens  volens)  in  the  lower  entry. 

"  Jemrny  took  two  or  three  hours  to  make  himself 


82  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

up  in  the  morning,  emerging  from  his  shell  at 
10  o'clock  in  the  forenoon,  a  perfect  Beau  Brum- 
mell.  The  most  fastidious  taste  could  detect  no 
flaw ;  the  most  critical  or  censorious  eye  no  fop 
pery.  His  figure  was  matchless,  or  his  tailor,  or 
both  together ;  and  his  coats  always  of  a  shade 
of  color  unattainable  by  any  one  but  Jemmy. 
Last,  not  least,  he  rejoiced  in  a  set  of  dickies  that 
left  him  at  perfect  liberty  to  look  east,  west,  north 
or  south,  without  cutting  his  ears  off!  He  never 
appeared  in  public,  l  en  dishabille,'  either  of  body 
or  mind.  Both  were,  at  such  times,  in  their  holi 
day  suit. 

"Now  it  was  very  selfish  in  Jemmy  to  'waste 
his  sweetness  on  the  desert  air,'  for  so  many  years; 
but  he  had  two  good  reasons  for  it.  The  first  was 
that  he  considered  himself  too  bright  a  jewel  to  be 
in  the  possession  of  any  one  woman  exclusively. 
The  next  was,  he  was  terribly  afraid  of  being 
taken  in.  He  never  made  a  call  on  a  single 
woman  without  taking  some  male  acquaintance 
(not  too  attractive)  to  neutralize  the  force  of  the 
compliment.  A  bright  eye  or  a  pretty  ankle  gave 
him  spasms.  He  couldn't  live  away  from  their 
owners,  and  he  was  afraid  to  go  too  near  them. 

He  was  most  at  his  ease  in  a  large  family  of  sis 
ters,  where  he  could  sprinkle  about  his  attentions 


FANNY     FERN.  83 

and  gallantries  in  homoeopathic  doses ;  or  in  the 
society  of  married  ladies,  where  a  man  stands  in  no 
fear  of  being  asked  "  his  intentions" 

Susy was  the  bright,  particular  star  in  this 

firmament.  She  was  always  in  choice  spirits,  spark 
ling  as  a  bottle  of  champagne,  well-dressed,  good- 
tempered,  always  ready  for  a  drive,  a  walk,  a  sail 
or  a  pic-nic,  and  always  the  belle  of  the  party. 

She  was  visiting  at  the  house  of  a  friend ;  and 
Jemmy  felt  himself  so  safe  there.  The  newest 
piece  of  music,  the  most  fragrant  of  Gibbens'  bou 
quets,  the  last  of  Dickens's  perpetrations,  found 
their  way  to  "Barley  Place,  No.  5."  Susy  hemmed 
three  splendid  neck-ties,  with  her  own  fair  fingers ; 
mended  the  little  rips  in  his  gloves,  (that  he  had 
amused  himself  making  for  her  when  he  sat  alone 
in  his  room,)  and  told  him,  confidentially,  how  to 
trim  his  moustache  and  where  to  lay  the  pruning- 
knife  to  his  whiskers.  Jemmy  was  a  lucky  man ! 

"  Jem,"  said  Tom  Lane,  one  night,  as  they  sat 
smoking  their  cigars  with  their  feet  ten  degrees 
higher  than  their  heads,  "  how  much  longer  are  you 
going  to  trifle  with  that  little  widow  ?  Why  don't 
you  ask  her  and  done  with  it  ?  " 

"  Widow  !  ask  her  I  done  with  it !  "  said  Jem, 
with  a  stupid  stare,  as  his  cigar  fell  into  the  ashes. 
"  They  said  '  her  husband  was  absent."' 


84  LIFE    AND 

"Absent!  Ha!  ha!  his  tombstone  will  tell  you 
about  that !  " 

"  I'm  ruined,"  said  Jem,  "  ruined !  I  have  driven 
her  out ;  walked  with  her,  sailed  with  her,  praised 
her  eyes  and  hair,  sent  her  bouquets,  and  music, 
and  poetry ;  I've — I've  done  everything,  Tom. 
What's  to  be  done  ?  I  won't  be  married.  I'd  as 
lief  be  hung; "  and  pronouncing  the  latter  part  of 
the  word  condemnation,  rather  audibly,  he  rushed 
into  the  open  air  to  take  breath ! 

The  next  day  the  following  item  appeared  in  the 
newspapers : 

"  MYSTERIOUS. — The  admirers  of  James  Jessamy, 
Esq.,  will  be  pained  to  learn  of  his  sudden  and  un 
accountable  disappearance  from  the  Hotel. 

No  clue  has  as  yet  been  discovered  of  his  where 
abouts.  His  papers,  books  and  wearing-apparel,  are 
in  safe  keeping  for  his  relatives,  and  may  be  had  on 
application  to  Sam  Springle, Hotel." 


XVII. 

JEMMY  JESSAMY'S    DEFENCE. 

TiO  FANNY  FEKK— Hiss  Fern:  Your  wanton 
and  unprovoked  attack  upon  me,  in  the  last  edi 
tion  of  the  "  True  Flag,"  headed  "  Look  before  you 
Leap/'  is  a  leeile  more  than  I  can  stand.  I  should 
like  to  know  what  on  earth  has  induced  you  to  ex 
pend  your  electricity  upon  "  Jemmy  Jessamy,  the 
double-distilled  bachelor  ?  "  Calling  me  by  name, 
and  thus  setting  me  up  as  a  public  mark,  and  pro 
claiming  just  the  number  of  years  I  have  boarded 

in  " Hotel,  No.  25,"  and  then  heralding  my 

peculiarities  in  regard  to  the  chamber-maid,  has  put 
me  in  no  enviable  predicament.  I  begin  to  think  it 
is  high  time  I  knew  "  something." 

My  hour  for  rising,  I  acknowledge,  is  ten  A.  M. 
I  am  not,  then,  the  perfect  "  Beau  Brummell"  you 
have  described;  for  I  have  never  obtruded  my 


86  LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES     OF 

calls  upon  anybody  until  ten  o'clock,  by  my  double 
repeater.  Well,  if  I  was  skittish  about  approach 
ing  women,  formerly,  what  must  I  be  now,  since 
your  virago-tongue  has  used  me  up  by  piecemeal ! 
Talking  about  my  "  dickeys  "  sitting  comfortably! 
What  if  I  do  allow  myself  a  commendable  latitude 
for  turning  every  way  ?  When  such  weather-cocks 
are  in  the  market,  it  behooves  us  to  "  look  before 
we  leap."  Besides,  I  have  never  taxed  a  female 
eye  to  stitch  a  dickey,  sew  on  a  button,  make  a  shirt, 
or  repair  an  overcoat  since  I  have  been  in  the  above 
hotel.  My  tailor  has  always  been  my  seamstress  : 
and  his  bills,  like  some  of  the  married  fraternity, 
do  not  remain  unpaid.  But  what  right  had  you  to 
assign  my  reasons  for  remaining  single,  and  bestow 
ing  my  attentions  in  "  homoeopathic  doses  upon  a 
whole  family  of  sisters  ?  " 

Then  I  am  served  up  at  u  No.  5  Barley 
Place,"  and  a  game  is  made  about  myself  and 
the  widow  "  Susy."  I  am  represented  as  playing 
the  part  of  a  lover,  supposing  her  a  married  lady. 
She  never  sewed  a  rip  in  my  glove,  nor  cut  or 
curled  a  single  hair  of  my  moustaches  in  her  life. 
To  be  sure,  Tom  Lane  is  a  joking  fellow,  and  he 
did  talk  about  her  husband's  tombstone ;  but  it 
was  all  gas,  and,  as  I  thought,  ended  in  smoke. 

But,  last  of  all,  I  am  described  as  absconding 


FANNY     FERN.  87 

from  my  hotel.  Heavens !  what  a  tongue  you 
have  got.  Hadn't  I  a  right  to  go  South  to  cure  a 
consumption,  without  a  strange  woman's  meddling 
about  it  ?  While  I  was  there,  however,  Miss  Fan, 
I  heard  of  a  place  just  suited  to  your  capacities. 
An  editor  advertised  for  a  partner  "that  could 
write  out  thunder  and  lightning  at  a  stroke."  I 
thought  of  you,  and  added,  I  knew  one  that  could 
do  that,  and  throw  a  powerful  deluge  along  with 
it.  This  is  evidently  your  latitude.  People  at 
the  South  indulge  in  personalities,  and  then 
challenge  each  other  for  a  duel.  In  this  way,  you 
would  be  spared  many  of  your  random  shots. 

The  time  was,  when  I  seriously  thought  of  the 
subject  of  marriage.  I  have  bothered  over  the 
subject,  whether  women  are  really  what  they 
appear,  until  I  am  satisfied.  If  you  are  an  un 
tamed,  undisguised,  plain  representative  of  the 
sex,  may  heaven  protect  all  future  Caudles  from 
such  emblems  of  affection !  If  I  am  an  old 
bachelor,  I  am  determined  to  wear  the  breeches 
myself.  You  need  not  dream  about  a  codicil 
being  attached  to  my  will, — for  your  last  attack 
has  completely  and  forever  estranged  you  from  all 
claims,  human  or  divine  on 

JEMMY  £ESSAMY. 


XVIII. 

THE     GOVERNESS. 

THE   following    tale    is    Fanny   Fern's    earliest 
attempt  at  a  long  story,  now  for  the  first  time 
given  to  the  world  within  the  covers  of  a  book. 


"  'If  you  please,  ma'am,  a  young  woman  in  the 
hall,  dressed  in  mourning,  wishes  to  speak  with 
you.'  The  lady  addressed  might  have  been,  (we 
are  aware  we  are  treading  on  debatable  ground,) 
about  thirty-eight  years  of  age.  Time,  that  had 
spared  her  the  attraction  of  a  graceful,  pliant  form, 
had  robbed  her  blue  eyes  of  their  lustre,  and 
thinned  her  flaxen  tresses.  She  still  rejoiced, 
however,  in  a  pair  of  dlniirfutiv6  feet  and  ankles, 
which  she  considered  it  a  great  sin  to  '  hide  under 
a  bushel,'  ^nd  had  a  way  of  her  own  of  exhibiting 
on  all  occasions,  known  only  to  the  ingenuity  of  a 


FANNYFERN.  89 

practised  coquette,  or  an  ex-belle.  She  raised  her 
eyes  languidly  from  the  last  new  novel  she  was 
perusing,  and  with  the  air  of  a  victim  closed  the 
book,  as  John  ushered  in  the  intruder. 

"  Slightly  raising  her  eyebrows,  she  said,  c  So 
you  are  the  young  person  who  answered  my 
advertisement  for  a  governess?'  levelling  at  the 
same  time  a  scrutinizing  glance  upon  her  that 
brought  the  color  into  her  fair  cheek.  '  In 
mourning,  I  see;  very  becoming,  but  it  always 
gives  me  the  dismals  to  see  a  black  dress  about ; 
don't  cry,  child,  people  will  die  when  their  time 
comes,  it's  a  thing  that  can't  be  helped.  I  suppose 
you  understand  French,  German,  Italian,  Spanish, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  if  you  are  a  governess. 
I  desire  Meta  to  be  fashionably  educated,  and  if 
you  stay,  I  hope  you  will  understand  your  busi 
ness  and  be  thorough,  for  it  is  a  great  bore  to  me 
to  look  after  such  things.  I  shall  want  you  to 
clear  starch  my  collars  and  ruffles,  and  trim  my 
breakfast  caps ;  I  see .  you  look  as  though  you 
would  object  to  this,  but  you  wont  find  such  a 
place  as  this  every  day,  and  people  who  are  driven 
to  the  wall  by  necessity,  and  have  to  get  their 
own  living,  can't  afford  to  be  fastidious.  Pity 
you  are  so  pretty,  child;  never  mind,  you  .must 
keep  close ;  you'll  see  no  company  at  my  house, 


90  LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES     OF 

and  I  trust  you  are  no  gadder.  What  is  your 
name  ?  Grace  Clifford  ?  very  romantic !  Well, 
if  you'd  like  to  stay,  John  will  show  you  to  your 
room — but  pray  put  away  that  mass  of  curls  and 
wear  it  plain,  as  it  looks  too  childish  for  a  govern 
ess.  You  needn't  trouble  yourself  to  dress  for 
dinner,  as  you  will  eat  with  Meta  in  the  nursery. 
John  !  Show  Miss  Clifford  to  her  room.' 

"  And  thither,  fair  reader,  we  will  follow  her. 
Poor  Grace !  Left  to  herself,  a  sense  of  her  utter 
loneliness  overpowered  her,  and  she  wept  like  a 
child.  Early  left  an  orphan,  dependent  through  her 
childhood  and  youth,  up  to  the  present  time,  upon 
relatives  who  made  her  feel  each  day,  each  hour, 
how  bitter  was  that  dependence ;  who  grudged 
the  bread  she  ate ;  who,  envious  of  her  beauty  and 
superior  abilities,  constantly  made  them  the  sub 
ject  of  coarse  jests  and  coarser  taunts,  Grace  gladly 
answered  Mrs.  Fay's  advertisement,  hoping  for 
relief  from  the  fetters  of  so  galling  a  chain.  Sen 
sitive  to  a  fault,  she  had  endeavored  to  nerve  her 
self  with  strength  to  endure  much  that  was  annoy 
ing  and  repulsive  in  the  situation  she  sought ;  but 
the  total  want  of  delicacy  and  courtesy  displayed 
by  Mrs.  Fay,  her  coarse  allusion  to  her  late  bereave 
ment,  (the  death  of  a  sister,)  her  ill-concealed  envy 


FANNY    FERN.  91 

of  her  personal  charms,  all  combined  to  depress 
and  dishearten  her. 

"Bat  Grace  Clifford  was  a  Christian.  She  had 
been  early  called  to  suffer ;  she  knew  who  had 
mixed  for  her  the  cup  of  life,  and  she  pushed  it  not 
away  from  her  lips  because  the  ingredients  were 
bitter.  She  knew  an  ear  that  was  never  deaf  to 
the  orphan's  cry,  and  that  the  promise  '  When 
thy  father  and  mother  forsake  thee,'  was  all  her 
own  to  claim  ;  and  she  rose  from  her  knees  with  a 
brow  calm  as  an  angel's,  a  spirit  girded  for  the 
conflict,  and  a  peace  that  the  world  knoweth  not 
of. 

"  Grace's  patroness,  Mrs.  Fay,  was  the  only 
daughter  of  a  petty  shop-keeper  in  the  village  of 

.  Worshipped  by  doating  parents  for  her 

beauty,  of  which  little  now  remained,  she  received 
from  them  a  showy,  superficial  education,  which, 
she  was  taught  from  childhood  to  consider  valua 
ble  only  as  a  stepping-stone  to  an  establishment  in 
life.  She  contemptuously  turned  the  cold  shoulder 
to  her  rustic  admirers,  one  after  the  other.  How 
this  human  butterfly  succeeded  in  entrapping  a 
matter-of-fact  man,  like  Mr.  Fay,  is  quite  unac 
countable.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  honeymoon  saw 
in  its  decline  the  death  of  his  love,  and  wearied 
with,  her  doll  face  and  vacant  mind,  he  sought, 


92  LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES    OF 

after  the  birth  of  his  little  daughter,  his  chief  plea 
sure  in  the  nursery,  for  which  she  entertained  an 
unconquerable  aversion. 

"Keader,  have  you  never  in  a  Summer's  day 
ramble  stopped  to  admire  in  some  secluded  spot  a 
sweet  flower  that  had  sprung  up  as  if  by  magic — 
rich  in  color,  beautiful  in  form,  throwing  uncon 
sciously  its  sweet  fragrance  to  the  winds,  unappre 
ciated,  unnoticed,  uncared  for,  save  by  His  eye 
who  painted  its  delicate  leaves  ?  Such  a  flower  was 
Meta  Fay.  Delicate,  fragile  as  Spring's  first  vio 
let,  with  a  brow  and  eyes  that  are  seldom  seen, 
save  where  death's  shadow  soonest  falls  ;  and  with 
a  mind  that  face  belied  not,  earnest,  thoughtful 
and  serious. 

"  Eepulsed  by  her  mother,  who  saw  nothing  in 
that  little  shrinking  form  but  a  bar  to  the  enjoy 
ment  of  her  empty  pleasures,  doated  on  by  a  father 
who  was  the  slave  of  Mammon,  and  who,  unable 
to  fathom  the  soul  that  looked  out  from  the  depths 
of  those  clear  eyes,  lavished  as  a  recompense  for 
the  many  unanswered  questions  prompted  by  her 
restless  mind,  the  costliest  toys  of  childhood. 
From  all  these  would  Meta  turn  away  dissatisfied, 
to  clasp  to  her  bosom  the  simplest  daisy  that  deck 
ed  the  meadow,  or  to  hail  with  rapture  the  first 
sweet  star  that  came  stealing  forth  at  evening. 


FANNY    FERN.  93 

"  Such  was  Grace  Clifford's  pupil.  All  thought 
of  herself  was  soon  lost  in  the  delight  of  watching 
her  young  mind  develop  ;  and  if  a  thought  of  her 
responsibility  as  its  guardian  sometimes  startled 
her,  yet  it  also  made  her  more  watchful,  more  true 
to  her  trust.  A  love  almost  like  that  of  parent 
and  child  grew  up  between  them.  Often,  when 
engaged  in  their  studies,  when  Meta's  love-speak 
ing  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her  young  teacher,  and 
the  flush  upon  her  delicate  cheek  was  coming  and 
vanishing  like  the  shadows  of  a  Summer  cloud, 
would  Grace  tremble  for  the  frail  casket  that  con 
tained  so  priceless  a  gem. 

"Meantime,  Mrs.  Fay  continued  her  treadmill 
round  of  visiting,  shopping  and  dressing,  occasion 
ally  looking  into  the  nursery,  quite  satisfied  that 
her  child  was  wonderfully  improved  in  beauty, 
and  willing  to  take  it  for  granted  everything  else 
was  as  it  should  be.  On  one  of  these  occasions 
Meta  said, 

"  '  Mamma !  Papa  and  I  think  Miss  Clifford  is  a 
beauty.' 

'"Indeed! '  said  Mrs.  Fay. 

"  '  Yes,  and  when  I  pull  out  her  comb  and  let  all 
her  beautiful  hair  down  over  her  shoulders,  papa 
says  it  looks  like  waves  of  gold.' 


94  LIFE     AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

"  Mrs.  Fay  walked  up  to  her  husband  and  said,  in 
a  hissing  whisper — 

'"So  this  accounts  for  the  interest  you  take  in 
the  child's  studies !  In  my  opinion  that  Grace 
Clifford,  with  her  sly  demure  face,  is  a  great  flirt 
— I  thought  she  was  too  pretty  when  I  engaged 
her.  '  Golden  ivaves ! '  and  with  a  toss  of  the 
head,  be-tokening  a  domestic  thunder-storm,  her 
ladyship  left  the  nursery. 

"  The  next  day,  as  Grace  sat  busy  with  her  work, 
with  Meta  beside  her,  the  child  suddenly  looked 
up  and  said, 

"  '  "What  is  &  flirt,  Miss  Clifford?' 

"Grace  was  about  to  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh, 
but  there  was  a  look  almost  amounting  to  distress 
on  Meta's  face  that  checked  her. 

"  '  Why  do  you  ask  me  that  question,  my  pet  ?' 

"  '  Oh  !  because  mamma  told  papa  yesterday  that 
you  was  a  flirt,  and  I  thought — and  (the  child  hesi 
tated)  it  meant  something  naughty,  because  mamma 
was  so  angry.' 

"  Poor  Grace  !  The  blood  rushed  in  a  torrent 
over  cheek,  neck  and  brow.  Meta,  frightened  at 
the  effect  of  her  question,  began  to  sob  as  if  her 
heart  would  break,  when  the  door  opened,  and 
Mr.  Fay  came  in.  Grace  rushed  precipitately  past 
him,  and  gaining  her  own  room,  burst  into  a  pas- 


FANNY    FERN.  95 

sionate  flood  of  tears.  In  vain  she  taxed  her 
memory  to  recall  an  indiscreet  word  or  action,  or 
anything  that  a  jealous  wife  could  construe  into  an 
invasion  of  her  matrimonial  rights.  The  sin,  if 
there  was  any,  was  not  forthcoming.  In  vain  had 
been  all  her  efforts  to  propitiate  this  weak-minded 
woman,  by  pulling  away  the  obnoxious  ringlets, 
by  clear  starching  her  muslins,  or  trimming  with 
tasteful  fingers  her  dainty  little  breakfast  caps. 
The  serpent  had  entered  Eden ;  and  although  no 
'forbidden  fruit'  had  been  tasted,  she  none  the 
less  clearly  saw  the  flaming  sword  that  was  to 
drive  her  thence.  Sheltering  herself  under  the 
plea  of  a  violent  headache,  she  excused  herself 
from  appearing  again  below,  and  sat  until  a  late 
hour  at  night,  devising  the  best  mode  of  leaving, 
as  farther  stay  was  impossible  in  such  a  humilia 
ting  position.  She  must  go  ;  that  was  plain  ; — but 
where  f 

"  Suddenly  she  was  startled  from  her  reverie  by 
the  sound  of  hurrying  feet  in  the  hall.  A  quick 
rap  at  the  door,  and  a  summons  to  Meta's  room 
followed.  She  had  been  taken  suddenly  and 
alarmingly  ill.  Grace  forgot  everything  in  anxie 
ty  for  her  darling,  and  hastily  snatching  a  dress 
ing  gown,  she  flew  to  her  room.  The  poor  child 
was  tossing  restlessly  from  side  to  side ;  her  little 


96  LIFE    AND     BEAUTIES    OF 

hands  were  hot  and  burning,  and  her  cheeks  crim 
soned  with  fever.  Mr.  Fay  hastily  resigned  her  to 
Grace's  care,  while  he  went  for  a  physician. 

"  With  the  tenderness  of  a  mother  she  changed 
the  heated  pillows,  parted  the  thick  curls  from  her 
little  forehead,  bathed  the  throbbing  temples,  and 
rendered  the  thousand  little  nameless  services, 
known  only  to  the  soft  step,  quick  eye,  and  deli 
cate  hand  of  woman. 

"Meanwhile  the  mother  slept  quietly  in  an  ad 
joining  room,  solacing  herself  that  the  doctor 
knew  better  than  she  what  was  best  for  the  child, 
and  fearing  the  effect  of  night  vigils  upon  her 
complexion. 

"  When  Mr.  Fay  returned  with  the  physician, 
Meta  had  sunk  into  an  uneasy  slumber.  Resigning 
her  post  to  him,  Grace  watched  his  countenance 
with  an  anxious  eye  while  he  felt  the  pulse  and 
noted  the  breathing  of  her  little  pupil.  Writing 
his  prescriptions,  he  handed  them  to  Grace,  who 
had  signified  her  intention  of  spending  the  night, 
adding  as  he  did  so, 

"  'It  is  needless  to  enjoin  quiet  upon  one  who 
seems  so  well  to  understand  the  duties  of  a  nurse.' 

"  With  a  glance  at  his  child,  in  which  all  the 
father  was  expressed,  and  a  grateful  '  God  bless 
you'  to  Grace,  Mr.  Fay  left  the  room.  Shading 


FANNY    FERN.  97 

the  small  lamp,  lest  it  might  waken  the  child, 
Grace  unhanded  her  rich  tresses,  and  loosening 
the  girdle  of  her  dressing  gown,  seated  herself 
beside  her. 

"  Silently,  slowly,  pass  the  night  watches,  in  the 
chamber  of  the  sick  and  dying !  The  dull  ticking 
of  the  clock,  falling  upon  the  sensitive  ear  of  the 
watcher,  strikes  to  the  throbbing  heart  a  nameless 
terror.  With  straining  eye,  its  hours  are  counted ; 
with  nervous  hand,  at  the  appointed  time,  the 
healing  draught  is  prepared  for  the  sufferer.  The 
measured  tread  of  the  watchman,  as  he  passes  his 
rounds  beneath  the  windows,  the  distant  rumble 
of  the  stage-coach,  perchance  the  disjointed  frag 
ment  of  a  song  from  bacchanalian  lips,  alone  break 
the  solemn  stillness.  At  such  an  hour,  serious 
thoughts  like  unbidden  guests  rush  in.  Life  ap 
pears  like  the  dream  it  is ;  Eternity  the  waking ; 
and  involuntarily  the  most  thoughtless  look  up  for 
help  to  Him,  by  whom  l  the  hairs  of  our  head  are 
all  numbered.' 

"  The  stars,  one  by  one,  faded  away  in  the  golden 
light  of  morning.  The  sun  rose  fair  to  many  an 
eye  that  should  never  see  its  setting.  Meta  was 
delirious.  In  fancy  she  roved  with  her  dear 
teacher  in  green  fields,  and  listened  to  the  sweet 
song  of  birds,  and  was  happy. 
5 


98  LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES     OF 

"  'Do  not  tell  me  my  darling  will  die/  said  the 
stricken  father  to  the  physician ;  then  turning  to 
Grace,  he  said,  almost  in  the  form  of  a  command, 
*  you  know  how  to  pray ;  you  taught  her  the 
way  to  heaven,  when  I  could  not;  ask  for  her  life; 
God  hears  the  angels.' 

"  '  While  there  is  life  there  is  hope,'  said  the 
sympathizing  physician,  wiping  away  a  tear  ;  'all 
that  we  can  do  we  will,  and  leave  the  event  with  a 
higher  power.' 

"  Day  after  day,  night  after  night,  regardless  of 
food  or  rest,  Grace  kept  tireless  watch  by  the 
little  sufferer ;  the  selfish  mother  occasionally 
looking  in,  declaring  her  inability  to  stay  in  a  sick 
room,  and  expressing  her  satisfaction  that  others 
had  more  nerve  than  herself  for  such  scenes. 

"  That  day  a  new  harp  was  strung,  a  white  robe 
was  worn,  a  new  song  was  heard  in  heaven.  On 
earth,  '  the  child  tuas  not  !  ' 

u  '  Alone  again  in  the  world,  alone  with  the  dead? 
faltered  Grace,  as  she  sank  insensibly  by  the  little 
corpse. 

"  Well  was  it  for  the  grief-stricken  father  that  a 
new  object  of  solicitude  was  before  him  ;  well  for 
the  mother  that  such  devotion  to  her  dead  child 
had  at  last  touched  a  heart  so  encrusted  with 
worldliness.  All  their  united  efforts,  joined  with 


FAN  NY     FERN.  99 

the  skill  of  the  friend  and  physician,  were  needed 
to  rescue  Grace  from  the  grave.  To  an  observing 
eve,  the  interest  the  latter  evinced  for  his  fair 
patient  was  not  entirely  professional.  He  had 
been  touched  by  her  self-sacrificing  devotion,  and 
her  friendlessness,  and  each  day  more  and  more 

charmed  with  her  beauty  and  simplicity. 

•&-K-K***-*-* 

"  Softly  fell  the  moonlight  on  the  countless  sleep 
ers  in  the  vast  cemetery  of .     Each  tiny  flower 

swaying  in  the  night-breeze  was  gemmed  with 
nature's  tears.  The  solemn  stillness  was  unbroken 
save  by  the  sweet  note  of  some  trua^  bird  return 
ing  to  his  leafy  home.  How  many  hearts  so  lately 
throbbing  with  pain  or  pleasure  lay  there  forever 
stilled !  There,  in  her  unappropriated  loveliness, 
slept  the  betrothed  maiden ;  there,  the  bride  with 
her*  head  pillowed  on  golden  tresses  whose  sunny 
beauty  e'en  the  great  spoiler  seemed  loth  to 
touch  ;  the  dimpled  babe  that  yesterday  lay  warm 
and  rosy  in  its  mother's  breast;  the  gray-haired 
sire,  weary  with  life's  conflict,  the  loving  wife 
and  mother  in  life's  sweet  prime,  deaf  to  the  wail 
of  her  helpless  babe  and  to  the  agonized  cry  of 
its  father ;  the  faithful  pastor,  gone  at  last  to  hear 
the  i  Well  done,  good  and  faithful  servant ;'  the 
reckless  youth,  who  with  brow  untouched  by  care, 


100  LIFE    AND     BEAUTIES     OF 

and  limbs  fashioned  for  strength,  and  beauty,  had 
rushed  unbidden  into  the  presence  of  his  Maker, 
impatient  for  the  summons  of  the  'great  Keaper.' 
On  his  tombstone,  partial  friends  had  written,  '  he 
sleeps  in  Jesus,'  while  underneath,  (in  '  the  hand 
writing  on  the  wall ')  methought  I  could  read, 
*  no  murderer  hath  eternal  life.' 

"  There  lay  the  miser,  who  only  in  death's 
agony  loosened  his  hold  of  his  golden  god.  The 
widow  he  has  made  houseless,  and  her  shivering 
orphans,  read  the  mocking  falsehood  on  the  splen 
did  marble  that  covers  him,  and  murmur  in  words 
that  are  God^  own  truth,  '  It  is  easier  for  a  camel 
to  go  through  the  eye  of  a  needle,  than  for  a  rich 
man  to  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  God.' 

"  With  a  saddened  heart  I  turn  to  inhale  the 
sweet  breath  of  the  flowers  planted  by  the  hand 
of  affection,  or  strewn  in  garlands  with  falling 
tears  over  the  loved  and  lost.  Before  me,  shining 
in  the  moonlight,  is  a  marble  tablet ;  on  it  I  read, 
'  Our  little  Meta.'  I  advance  toward  it ;  suddenly 
I  see  a  female  figure  approaching,  looking  so 
spiritual  in  the  moonlight — with  her  snowy  robe 
and  shining  hair — that  I  could  almost  fancy  her 
an  angel  guarding  the  child's  grave.  She  advanced 
toward  it,  and  kneeling,  presses  her  lips  to  the  fra 
grant  sod,  saying  in  a  voice  of  anguish, 


FANNY    FERN.  101 

"  'Would  to  God  I  had  died  for  thee,  my  child, 
my  child ! ' 

"A  kind  friend  had  followed  Grace's  footsteps. 
A  rich,  manly  voice  is  borne  upon  the  air.  It 
shall  fall  like  dew  upon  the  stricken  flower.  Listen 
to  the  chant ! 

'  There  is  a  Reaper  whose  name  is  Death, 

And  with  his  sickle  keen, 
He  reaps  the  bearded  grain  at  a  breath  • 

And  the  flowers  that  grow  between. 

'  He  gazed  at  the  flowers  with  tearful  eyes, 

He  raised  their  drooping  leaves, 
It  was  for  the  Lord  of  Paradise 

He  bound  them  in  his  sheaves. 

c  Oh  not  in  cruelty,  not  in  wrath, 

The  Reaper  carne  that  day  • 
'Twas  an  angel  visited  the  green  earth 

And  took  those  flowers  away.' 

"  A  holy  calm  has  settled  upon  the  face  of  the 
mourner.     Noiselessly  she  retraces  her  steps,  and 
as  she  glides  away,  I  hear  her  murmur,  in  a  vok 
of  submission : 

'  Oh  !  not  in  cruelty,  not  in  wrath 

The  Reaper  came  that  day, 
Twas  an  angel  visited  the  green  earth 
And  took  my  flower  away/ 


102          LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

tl  The  splendid  mansion  of  the  physician  had  for 
its  mistress  the  orphan  governess.  The  world, 
with  its  sycophantic  smile,  now  flatters,  where  it 
once  frowned.  Both  are  alike  to  Grace,  who  has 
given  her  warm  heart,  '  till  death  do  us  part,'  to 
one  who  knows  well  how  to  prize  the  gift." 


XIX. 

ALL     ABOUT     SATAN. 

T7ANNY  says  herself,  she  "  knows  all  about 
him."  Now  who  in  the  world  so  fit  to  deliver  a 
discourse  on  the  subject,  as  so  intimate  an  acquaint 
ance  ?  Beside,  we  have  seen  already  that  Fanny 
is  in  the  habit  of  writing  about  her  friends. 
Satan  might  think  it  a  little  unjust  to  be  held 
responsible  for  babies  and  women's  rights  move 
ments,  but  Fanny  knows  best,  so  here  follows  her 
sermon,  text  and  all : — 

"  Satan  finds  some  mischief  still 
For  idle  hands  to  do." 

"  To  be  sure  he  does!  I  know  all  about  him! 
There's  no  knowing  what  would  happen,  if  the 
houses  now-a-days  were  not  filled  up,  one  half 
with  babies  and  the  other  half  with  old  stockings  ! 


104  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

Then  a  man  can  tell  pretty  near,  what  his  wife  is 
about ! — sure  to  find  her,  year  in  and  year  out,  in 
that  old  calico  wrapper,  in  that  old  ricketty 
rocking-chair,  with  the  last  new  twins  in  her  arms, 
when  he  wants  a  button  sewed  on  his  coat  to  go 
to  the  opera.  No  other  way,  you  see  ! 

"  Women  are  getting  altogether  too  smart  now-a- 
days ;  there  must  be  a  stop  put  to  it !  people  are 
beginning  to  get  alarmed  !  I  don't  suppose  there 
has  been  such  a  universal  crowing  since  the 
roosters  in  Noah's  ark  were  let  out,  as  there  was 
among  the  editors  when  that  *  Swisshelm '  laby 
was  born !  It's  none  of  my  business,  but  it  did 
seem  to  me  rather  a  circular  singwnstance,  that  she 
should  be  cut  short  in  her  editorial  career  that 
way !  I  suppose,  however,  that  baby  will  grow 
out  of  her  arms  one  of  these  days,  spite  of  fate ; 
and  then,  if  there's  no  providential  interposition,  she 
may  resume  her  pen  again.  Well,  I  hope  it  will 
be  a  warning  !  the  fact  is,  ivomen  have  no  business 
to  be  crowding  into  the  editorial  chair.  Supposing 
they  know  enough  to  fill  it  (which  I  doubt !  hem  !) 
they  oughter  '  hide  their  light  under  a  b ' — aby  ! 

"  I  tell  you,  editors  worft  stan d~ it,  to  have  their 
masculine  toes  trod  on  that  way.  They'll  have  to 
sign  a  'quit  claim'  to  their  'dickeys'  by  and 
by  I  I  wonder  what  the  world's  coming  to ! 


FANNY     FERN.  105 

What  do  you  suppose  our  forefathers  and  fore- 
mothers  would  say,  to  see  a  woman  sitting  up  in 
the  editorial  chair,  as  pert  as  a  piper,  with  a  pen 
stuck  behind  her  little  ears?  phew!  I  hope  / 
never  shall  see  such  a  horrid  sight !" 


5* 


XX. 

WELL-KNOWN     CHARCTERS. — BY    FAN 
NY     FERN. 

MISS  CHAEITY  CKACKBONE  was  a  spinster ; 
not  that  she  ever  '  spun  street  yarn.'  Oh  no  ! 
but  she  spun  tremendous  long  { yarns '  with  her 
tongue,  and  had  spun  out  forty  years  of  her  life  in 
single  blessedness,  in  a  shop  at  the  corner  of  Pin 
Alley,  where  you  could  purchase,  for  a  considera 
tion,  gingerbread  and  shoe-blacking,  hooks-and- 
eyes  and  cholera  pills,  razors  and  sugar  candy, 
crackers  and  castor-oil,  head-brushes  and  butter, 
small  tooth  combs  and  molasses. 

"Not  having  sufficient  employment  in  superin 
tending  her  own  affairs,  she  very  philanthropically 
undertook  to  manage  those  of  her  neighbors ;  and, 
like  all  persons  of  weak  intellect,  had  an  astonish 
ing  memory  for  little  things ;  could  tell  you  the 
very  hour,  of  the  very  day,  of  the  very  week,  and 


FANNY    FERN.  107 

month,  and  year,  you  were  born ;  how  long  you 
were  employed  in  cutting  your  first  tooth,  what 
tailoress  had  the  honor  of  introducing  you  into 
jacket  and  trowsers,  and  when  you  put  on  your 
first  long-tail  coat. 

"Miss  Charity's  'outward  man7  was  not  re 
markably  felicitous  ;  her  figure  much  resembling  a 
barber's  pole  in  its  proportions.  She  generally 
preferred  dresses  of  the  flabbiest  possible  material, 
and  a  very  tight  fit ;  so  that  her  projecting  bones 
were  no  mystery,  and  as  the  skirt  lacked  two  or 
three  inches  of  reaching  the  ground,  it  revealed  a 
pair  of  feet  and  ankles  evidently  intended  more  for 
use  than  ornament.  Her  hair  was  the  color  of  a 
dirty  blanket,  and  her  eyes  bore  a  strong  resem 
blance  to  a  drop  of  indigo  in  a  pan  of  buttermilk. 

"  'Good  morning,  Charity/  said  a  fellow  gossip  ; 
*  such  a  budget  of  news ! ' 

"  Charity  dropped  her  knitting- work,  seized  one 
chair  for  her  visitor,  and  placed  herself  on  another 
in  front  of  her,  with  both  elbows  on  her  knees,  and 
her  face  as  near  Miss  Pettingill's  as  possible,  lest 
she  should  lose  a  word  ;  exclaiming, 

"'For  the  land's  sake,  make  haste  and  begin. 
Who  did  what  f  The  cat's  tail  pointed  north  this 
morning,  and  I  knew  it  was  the  fore-end  of  a  runner 
of  something.' 


108  LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES     OF 

"  '  I  declare,  I  don't  know  which  end  to  begin/ 
said  Pettingill ;  '  such  a  piece  of  work  !  This  is  a 
wicked,  abominable  world,  Charity.  You  know 
that  Mrs.  Clark  ? ' 

111  Land  alive!  don't  I  though?  Wasn't  I  the 
first  one  to  tell  that  her  husband  ran  off  and  left 
her;  and  that  she  was  a  flirt  and  extravagant? 
Not  that  I  knew  she  was,  myself,  but  I  heard  tell 
so,  and  what  you  hear  said  is  most  always  true. 
Besides,  she's  pretty,  and  that's  always  against  a 
woman,  as  you  and  I  know,  Pettingill.  Who  ever 
heard  any  body  talk  against  us  ?  '  and  she  set  her 
arms  a-kimbo  as  if  '  pistols  for  two  '  would  be  sent 
for,  if  they  did !  '  Well,  what  has  the  creature 
done  now,  Pettingill  ?  ' 

"  '  Why,  you  know  she  boards  at  Deacon  Eph- 
raim  Snow's — I  wonder  at  his  having  her  in  his 
house,  and  he  a  deacon  too.  But  you  know  Mrs. 
Clark  has  'mazin  pretty  ways  with  her,  and  she's 
got  round  him  somehow.  Well,  you  know  I  do 
washing  for  his  wife,  and  speaking  of  that,  she's 
horrid  stingy  of  her  soap.  Well,  t'other  day  she 
sent  me  up  garret,  as  it  rained,  to  hang  up  the 
clothes,  and  as  I  went  by  Mrs.  Clark's  room,  it 
struck  me  I'd  just  peep  into  the  key-hole  and  listen 
a  bit.'  Here  Charity  drew  up  her  chair  so  close 


FANNY    FEKN.  109 

that  the  tips  of  their  noses  met ;  saying,  in  a  hoarse 
whisper, 

"'What  $tf  you  see?' 

"'La!  don't  frighten  me  so,'  said  Pettingill ; 
1  your  eyes  look  like  a  cat's  in  the  dark !  I  saw  a 
very  fine-looking  gentleman —  ' 

"  '  PI!  warrant  it?  said  Charity,  with  a  triumph 
ant  chuckle. 

11  '  And  I  heard  him  say,  '  Edith,  dear—' 

Here  Charity  pushed  back  her  chair  and  rolled 
up  the  whites  of  her  eyes  like  a  duck  in  a  thunder 
storm. 

"  '  Edith  dear,'  says  he,  '  rely  upon  me  ;  never 
heed  these  slanderous  stories  ;  I  will  be  your  pro 
tector.'  There,  Charity,  what  do  you  think  of 
that?' 

"  '  She  is  a,  church-member,'  said  Charity, 
thoughtfully,  '  isn't  she  ?  keep  quiet  and  watch 
her,  the  hypocrite  !  Did  you  say  anything  about 
it  to  Mrs.  Snow,  or  the  deacon  ! ' 

"  '  Not  I,'  said  Pettingill;  'it  would  have  fetched 
7?7e  out,  you  know,  for  listening ;  but  I'm  convinced 
the  man  has  a  'canister'  motive  in  going  there.' 

"  '  Sinister,'  said  Charity,  reprovingly,  who  con 
sidered  herself  a  scholar. 

"  'Well,  canister  or  sinister,  it  makes  no  difference 
to  me,1  said  Pettingill.  '  I  know  what  /think  of 


110          LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES,    ETC. 

her.     It's  no. use  talking  to  the  Snow's;  they  won't 
believe  anything  against  her.' 

"  'That's  very  true,'  said  Mrs.  Snow,  who  had 
entered  unperceived,  and  heard  a  great  part  of 
their  conversation.  '  Mrs.  Clark  has  been  with  us 
six  months,  and  is  blameless  and  correct  in  her 
deportment.  She  has  been  shamefully  ill-treated 
and  slandered  by  her  husband,  as  /know,  and  the 
gentleman  about  whom  you  were  getting  up  such 
a  fine  story  is  her  brother,  who  has  just  returned 
from  Europe.  When  he  said  he  'would  protect 
her,'  he  intended  to  be  as  good  as  his  word ;  and 
for  your  own  sakes  I  would  advise  you  to  bear  it 
in  mind.  I  have  the  pleasure  to  wish  you  both 
good-morning.' 

«  (  There's  a  tempest  in  a  thimble/  said  Charity, 
as  she  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  '  Ain't  it,  though  ! '  said  Pettingill.  '  But  I'll 
warrant  we  shall  catch  her  tripping  yet.  These 
1  grass  widows,'  you  know.' 

"'Yes,7  said  Charity — 'and  so  pretty,  too.  I 
never  saw  &  pretty  woman  that  behaved  herself." 


XXI. 

HORACE   MANN'S 

TTOKACE  MANN,  in  his  lecture  on  "Woman," 
says :  "I  see  but  one  reason  why  woman 
should  not  preach  the  gospel,  and  that  reason  is, 
that  it  is  ten  thousand  times  better  to  go  about 
practising  the  gospel,  than  even  to  preach  it." 

11  On  this  hint,"  Fanny  characteristically  waxes 
eloquent. 

"I'm  perfectly  ready  to  close  my  female  eyes 
now!  Here's  justice  meted  out  to  our  suffering 
sex  at  last,  and  by. a  Han-n^  too!  Nobody  can 
disturb  the  serenity  of  my  soul  to-day.  I  feel  like 
a  crowned  martyr  ;  could  shake  hands  with  every 

enemy  I  have  except L    Anybody  any  '  little 

favors  '  to  ask,  now  is  their  time  1     If  my  bonnet 
wasn't  bran  new,  I'd  toss  it  up  till  it  got  hitched 


112 

on  the  horn  of  some  celestial  dilemma.  Wonder 
if  all  those  democrat  cannons  are  used  up  ?  It's 
outrageous  there's  no  way  provided  for  a  woman 
to  express  her  surplus  enthusiasm.  If  I  roll  up 
my  eyes,  it  may  suggest  a  pitcher  of  water  in  my 
face;  hysterics  would  but  feebly  express  my  emo 
tions  ;  (besides,  I  don't  know  how  they  are  got  up) 
no  use  in  fainting  unless  there's  somebody  '  worth 
while '  at  hand  to  bring  you  to.  What's  to  be 
done?  I'll  borrow  a  'True  Flag,'  and  hoist  it. 
I'll  go  into  the  woods  and  shout  huzza !  Never 
mind  whether  he's  married  or  single — he's  too 
much  of  a  curiosity  for  a  monopoly.  Barnum  must 
have  him ;  he  belongs  to  the  world  in  general. 
He's  booked  for  immortality !  Napoleon,  and 
Hannibal,  and  Caesar  weren't  a  circumstance  ! 
Just  think  of  Horace  Mann's  moral  courage  in  pro 
pagating  such  an  unpopular  sentiment !  I  shall 
have  to  get  out  a  Fern  dictionary.  Can't  find 
words  to  express  my  tumultuous  emotions  ! " 


XXII. 

WHAT     FANNY    THINKS    OFHOT 
WE  ATHEE. 

OHADBACH,  Mesliek,  and  Molock !  how  hot  it 
'  is  I  I  pity  omnibus  horses  and  ministers ;  I 
pity  the  little  victims  of  narrow  benches  and  short 
recesses ;  I  pity  ignorant  young  mothers  with 
teething  babies  ;  I  pity  the  Irish  who  huddle  in  a 
cellar  and  take  boarders  in  each  corner ;  I  pity 
consumptive  semptresses  who  "  sing  the  song  of 
the  shirt "  for  six  cents  per  day ;  I  pity  dandies 
with  tight  boots ;  I  pity  cooks  and  blacksmiths, 
and  red-haired  people;  I  pity  anybody  who 
doesn't  live  in  a  refrigerator,  and  hasn't  a  Fan  to 
temper  the  air. 


XXIII. 

FAMILY   JARS. 

is  a  subject  on  which  Fanny  ought  to  speak 
feelingly.     Her  article  thus  entitled,  is,  however, 
full  of  funny  hits,  doubtless  much  like  the  roses 
which  crown   the  skeleton,   or   the  smiles  which 
hide  the  heart-ache.     Poor  Fanny  ! 

"  Domestie  peaee  can  never  be  preserved  in  family  jars." 

Mr.  Jeremiah  Stubbs  was  rash  enough  to  remark, 
one  morning,  to  his  wife  Keziah,  "  that,  after  all, 
women  had  little  or  nothing  to  do ;  that  he  only 
wished  she  knew  the  responsibilities  of  a  man  of 
business."  (Jeremiah  kept  a  small  shop,  well 
stocked  with  maple  sugar,  suspicious  looking 
doughnuts,  ancient  pies  and  decayed  lemons.) — 
"Yes,  Keziah,  if  you  only  knew  the  responsibili- 


FANNY    FERN.  115 

ties  of  a  man  of  business,1  said  Jeremiah,  fishing  up 
the  corner  of  his  dickey  from  a  questionable  look 
ing  red  neckerchief  that  protected  his  jugular. 

"  'Well,  let  me  know  'em,  then,'  said  his  wife, 
tying  on  her  bonnet.  *  Seeing  is  believing.  We 
will  change  works  for  one  day.  You  get  break 
fast,  tend  the  baby,  and  wash  and  dress  the  other 
three  children,  and  I'll  go  down  and  open  shop.' 

"Jeremiah  didn't  exactly  look  for  this  termina 
tion  to  the  discussion ;  but  he  was  a  man,  and  of 
course  never  backed  out ;  so  he  took  a  survey  of 
the  premises,  wondering  which  end  to  begin, 
while  Keziah  went  on  her  way  rejoicing,  took 
down  the  shutters  like  a  master- workman,  opened 
shop,  made  a  fire,  arranged  the  •  tempting  wares 
above  mentioned,  with  feminine  ingenuity ;  put 
ting  the  best  side  of  everything  uppermost,  and 
wishing  she  had  nothing  else  to  do,  from  day  to 
day,  but  stand  behind  the  counter  and  sell  them. 

"  This  accomplished,  she  went  home  to  breakfast. 
There  sat  Jeremiah,  in  a  chair,  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  with  one  side  of  his  beard  shaved  off, 
and  the  lather  drying  on  the  remainder,  trotting  a 
little  blue-looking  wretch,  in  a  yellow  flannel 
night-gown,  who  was  rubbing  some  soft  ginger 
bread  into  his  bosom  with  his  little  fists,  by  way 
of  amusement,  The  coffee  had  boiled  over  into 


116  LIFE    AND     BEAUTIES    OF 

the  ashes,  and  Thomas  Jefferson  and  Napoleon 
Buonaparte  Stubbs  were  stirring  up  the  miniature 
pond  with  Jeremiah's  razor.  James  Madison  was 
still  between  the  sheets,  vociferating  loudly  for 
4  his  breakfast.' 

u  Looking  with  a  curious  eye  over  the  pile  of 
scorched  toast  for  a  piece  that  was  eatable,  Keziah 
commenced  her  breakfast,  referring  her  interesting 
young  family  to  their  paternal  derivative  for  a 
supply  of  their  numerous  wants.  At  last  he 
placed  a  cup  of  muddy  coffee  before  him,  con 
gratulating  himself  that  his  labors  were  ended, 
when  the  baby,  considering  it  an  invasion  of  his 
rights,  made  a  dive  at  it,  and  he  sprang  from  his 
chair  with  the  scalding  contents  dripping  from 
his  unwhisperables,  and — a  word  that  church- 
members  don't  use — hissing  from  between  his 
teeth. 

"  Cairn  as  a  summer  morning,  Keziah  replaced 
her  time-worn  straw  upon  her  head,  telling  Jerry 
that  her  children  must  be  prepared  for  school  at 
nine  o'clock,  the  room  must  be  swept  and  righted, 
the  breakfast  things  washed,  the  potatoes  boiled, 
and  the  mince-meat  prepared  for  dinner  by  twelve. 
Her  husband  grinned  a  ghastly  smile,  and  told 
her  'that  was  easy  done.'  No  such  thing.  The 
comb  could'nt  be  found ;  he  had  to  wipe  James 


FANNY     FERN.  117 

Madison's  presidential  phiz-mahogany  on  the  cor 
ner  of  the  table-cloth.  Napoleon  Buonaparte's 
pinafore  had  been  used  to  wipe  the  dishes;  Thomas 
Jefferson  had  rejoiced  twice  in  a  pair  of  boxed 
ears,  for  devouring  the  contents  of  the  sugar- 
bowl  ;  and  that  little  yellow  flannel  night-gown 
was  clutching  at  his  heels,  every  step  he  took  over 
the  floor. 

"  Miserable  Jeremiah  !  did'nt  you  wish  you  were 
a  woman  ?  Well,  '  time  and  tide  wait  for  no 
man.'  Twelve  o'clock  came,  and  so  did  Keziah. 

Her  husband  would  rather  have  seen  the 

hem !  The  bed  was  unmade,  the  children's  hair 
stood  up  '  seven  ways  of  a  Sunday,'  the  cat  was 
devouring  the  meat,  the  baby  had  the  chopping- 
knife,  and  Napoleon  Buonaparte  was  playing  ball 
with  the  potatoes. 

"  Jeremiah's  desire  for  immediate  emancipation 
overcame  his  pride,  and  passing  his  arms  half-way 
around  Keziah's  waist,  (it  was  so  large  that  he 
always  made  a  chalk  mark  where  he  left  off  em 
bracing,  that  he  might  know  where  to  begin 
again,)  he  told  her  she  was  an  angel,  and  he  was  a 
poor  miserable  wretch,  and  was  ready  to  acknow 
ledge  his  mistake.  Keziah  very  quietly  withdrew 
from  his  arm,  tolcl  him  the  bargain  was  made  for 
the  day,  and  she  would  change  works  at  night; 


118 

and  treating  herself  to  a  piece  of  bread  and  butter, 
she  departed.  Jerry  sat  for  a  minute  looking  into 
the  fire,  then  reaching  down  a  huge  parcel  of 
maple-sugar,  he  put  it  on  the  floor,  and  seating  all 
the  young  hopefuls  round  it,  turned  the  key  on 
them  and  the  scene  of  his  cares,  mounted  his 

beaver  on  his  aching  head,  and  rushed  to 's 

for  a  ivhisJcey  punch!  The  room  was  nice  and 
.tidy,  the  fire  was  comfortable,  the  punch  was 
strong,  and  Jeremiah  was  weak.  He  woke  about 
dark,  from  troubled  dreams  of  broomsticks  and 
curtain  lectures,  and  not  having  sufficient  courage 
to  encounter  their  fulfilment,  has  left  Keziali 
to  the  glorious  independence  of  a  '  California 
widow.1 " 


XXIV. 

TWO     IN     HEAVEN. 

THE  following  sketch  has  been  pronounced  by  a 
talented  Boston  editor,  to  be  the  finest  and  sweet 
est  article  Fanny  Fern  ever  penned.  The  very 
thought  might  well  have  served  as  inspiration. 
What  roof-tree  where  the  tears  have  not  fallen  ? 
What  household  that  counts  not  part  of  its  number 
by  tomb-stones  ? 

"Two  IN  HEAVEN. — '  You  have  two  children,' 
said  I. 

"  '  I  have  four,'  was  the  reply  ;  '  two  on  earth, 
two  in  heaven.' 

"  There  spoke  the  mother !  Still  hers !  only 
'  gone  before ! '  Still  remembered,  loved  and  cher 
ished,  by  the  hearth  and  at  the  board  ;  their  places 
not  yet  filled  ;  even  though  their  successors  draw 


120         LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

life  from  the  same  faithful  breast  where  their  dying 
heads  were  pillowed. 

" '  Two  in  heaven  !'  . 

"  Safely  housed  from  storm  and  tempest ;  no  sick 
ness  there  ;  nor  drooping  head',  nor  fading  eye,  nor 
weary  feet.  By  the  green  pastures  ;  tended  by  the 
Good  Shepherd,  linger  the  little  lambs  of  the  heav 
enly  fold. 

"  '  Two  in  heaven ! ' 

"  Earth  less  attractive !  Eternity  nearer  !  Invi 
sible  cords,  drawing  the  maternal  soul  upwards. 
'Still  small'  voices,  ever  whispering  come!  to  the 
world-weary  spirit. 

"  '  Two  in  heaven  I ' 

"  Mother  of  angels  !  Walk  softly  !  holy  eyes 
watch  thy  footsteps !  cherub  forms  bend  to  listen  ! 
Keep  thy  spirit  free  from  earth-taint ;  so  shalt 
thou  *  go  to  them,'  though  they  may  not  '  return  to 
thee.'  " 


XXV. 

THE     PEIVATE     HISTOKY     OF    DIDYMUS 
DAISY,    ESQ  . — B  Y    FANNY     FERN. 

MRS.  DAISY  styled  herself  a  pattern  wife;  a 
bright  and  shining  light  in  the  matrimonial 
firmament.  She  had  inscribed  on  her  girdle  these 
words,  from  John  Milton,  or  Mother  Goose,  I  for 
get  which:  '  He  for  God  only,  she  for  God  in  him.'1 
"  She  never  laced  her  boots  without  asking  her 
husband's  advice,  and  the  length  of  her  boddice, 
or  the  depth  of  her  flounces,  were  dependent  upon 
his  final  decision.  She  went  into  strong  convul 
sions  at  sight  of  a  *  Bloomer,'  and  rolled  up  the 
whites  of  her  eyes,  like  a  duck  in  a  thunderstorm, 
at  the  mention  of  the  i  Woman's  Rights'  Conven 
tion,'  and  considered  any  woman  who  persisted  in 
loving  white  bread,  when  her  husband  ate  brown, 

as  only  fit  for  the  place  where air-tight  stoves 

6 


122  LIFE     AND    BEAUTIES     OF 

and  furnaces  are  unnecessary  !  Her  voice  was  soft 
and  oily  ;  she  never  spoke  above  her  breath,  and 
her  motions  were  slow,  funereal  and  perpendicular. 

"  And  now  I  suppose  you  imagine  Didymus  was 
master  of  his  own  house  !  Deuce  a  lit  of  it! 
There  was  a  look  in  the  corner  of  his  wife's  eye 
that  was  as  good  as  a  loaded  musket,  and  he 
fetched  and  carried  accordingly,  like  a  trained 
spaniel,  tiptoeing  through  life  on  a  chalk-mark, 
and  precious  careful  at  that ;  confining  his  observa 
tion  of  the  world  to  the  latitude  and  longitude 
of  her  apron-strings.  But  it  was  always  '  hus 
band,'  and  '  dear  Daisy,'  even  when  he  knew  his 
life  wasn't  worth  two  cents  if  he  abated  one  jot  or 
tittle  of  his  matrimonial  loyalty. 

"It  was  very  refreshing  to  hear  her  ask  him  (  his 
opinion'  in  company,  and  his  diplomatic  windings 
and  twistings  on  those  occasions  were  worthy  of 
the  wiliest  politician  that  ever  flourished  .at  the 
'  White  House.'  As  to  speaking  to  any  other 
female  than  Mrs.  Daisy,  he  would  as  soon  have 
ordered  his  own  coffin  ;  and,  truth  to  tell,  this  was 
where  the  matrimonial  yoke  weighed  the  heaviest, 
for  Didymus  (unlucky  wretch)  had  an  eye  for  a 
dainty  waist  or  a  pair  of  falling  shoulders,  or  a 
light,  springing  step ;  but  the  way  he  had  to 


FANNY    FERN.  123 

1  shoulder !  march!'  when  they  'hove  in  sight,5 
was  crucifying  to  his  feelings ! 

"  Mrs.  Daisy  always  went  with  him,  to  and  from 
the  store,  for  l  exercise.7  (?)  He  was  never  allowed 
to  go  out  after  dark ;  his  evenings  being  mainly 
occupied  in  holding  skeins  of  silk,  or  sorting  knots 
of  '  German  Worsted,'  to  give  his  wife  an  opportu 
nity  to  immortalize  her  genius  in  transforming  the 
same  into  hump-backed  dogs,  deformed  lambs  and 
rabbits,  with  ears  twice  as  long  as  their  bodies. 
Under  such  watchful  guardianship  he  was  in  a  fair 
way  to  be  able  to  omit  entirely  at  his  orisons,  this 
petition — '  Lead  us  not  into  temptation/ 

''This  hymeneal  strait-jacket  was  more  particu 
larly  affecting,  inasmuch  as  Mrs.  Daisy  herself  was 
not  what  her  name  would  seem  to  suggest,  saving 
that  she  was  very  red.  It  was  the  problem  of  her 
life  to  find  dresses  and  hats  that  '  agreed  with  her 
complexion,'  and  she  might  well  have  exclaimed 
'  how  expensive  it  is  to  be  ugly? 

"Well,  'it's  a  long  lane  that  has  no  turning; ' 
and  so  Didymus  thought,  when  he  woke  up  one 
fine  morning  and  found  himself  a  widower  !  Did 
you  ever  see  a  poor  robin  let  loose  from  a  cage  ? 
or  a  mouse  released  from  the  clutches  of  grimal 
kin  ?  or  a  kitten  emancipated  from  an  easy-chair, 
where  she  had  been  mistaken  for  a  cushion  by 


124         LIFE    AND  BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

some  fat  old  lady  of  about  two  hundred  weight  ? 
Well — I  say  nothing  !  The  satisfaction  with  which 
Didymus  ordered  his  *  weeds,'  spoke  for  itself  I  In 
His  mental  rainbow,  Uack  was  hereafter  to  be 
1  couleur  de  rose  !  '  He  purchased  Mrs.  Daisy  a  nice 
coffin,  and  a  STRONG  one  ;  and  his  speech  to  Miss 
Maria  Fitz  Bumble  was  cut  and  dried,  and  ready 
for  delivery  as  soon  as  he  had  safely  planted  his 
first  Daisy  in  the  earth ! 

"  Didymus  was  a  man  again  !  He  dared  to  look 
himself  in  the  face  !  He  stood  up  straight,  and, 
clapping  his  hand  on  his  waistband,  exclaimed — 
'  Daisy,  this  is  living,  old  boy  ! '  Julius  Caesar  ! 
what  ails  the  man,  as  he  turns  his  horrified  gaze 
towards  the  bed ! 

il '  There — there  !  that  'U  do  ! '  said  Mrs,  Daisy. 
1  Don't  make  a  donkey  of  yourself,  Didymus,  be 
cause  that  is  unnecessary !  I  was  only  in  a  faint, 
my  dear !  A  FEINT — ha !  ha  !  I  think  I  under 
stand  you  now,  from  Genesis  to  Kevelations.  That 
blacTc  coat's  a  good  fit; — very  becoming,  too  !  Maria 
— Fitz— B-U-M-B-L-E-E  ! !  There,  that'll  DO,  Didy 
mus.  Sorry  to  disappoint  you,  but  I'm  just  as  good 
as  new  ! '  " 


XXVI, 

THE     WEDDING    DRESS. 

TINDER  this  title  appeared  in  the  columns  of  the 
True   Flag,    one    of    Fanny's    most   effective 
sketches.     Thus  ran  the  tale  : — 

"  l  Good-bye,  dearest  mother,'  said  Emma,  as  she 
pressed  her  lips  to  her  forehead.  '  Let  me  bring 
your  foot-stool  and  your  spectacles  before  I  go. 
We  shall  have  a  lovely  drive,  and  I'll  not  stay 
after  nightfall.' 

"  As  she  listened  to  the  sound  of  the  retreating 
wheels,  Mrs.  Leland  said  to  herself,  '  I'm  selfish 
to  be  unwilling  to  part  with  Emma,  but  she  is  so 
good  and  so  beautiful.  Her  presence  is  like  a  ray 
of  sunshine  ;  my  room  seems  so  dark'  and  cheer 
less  when  she  leaves  me ;  and  yet  it  will  not  be 
long  that  I  can  watch  over  her ;  and  when  these 


126  LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES     OF 

dim  eyes  are  closing,  it  will  be  a  comfort  to  know 
that  she  has  a  protector  and  a  husband.' 

"  Mrs.  Leland  was  a  widow — that  name  always 
suggestive  of  desolation,  want  and  sorrow.  Her 
husband,  however,  had  left  herself  and  Emma 
enough  to  keep  them  from  suffering,  and  the  latter 
had  made  her  musical  talents  available  in  driving 
poverty  from  the  door. 

"About  a  year  before  the  date  of  my  story, 
Emma  had  met  with  Lionel.  Of  prepossessing  ex 
terior  and  polished  manners,  the  young  merchant 
had  made  himself  a  welcome  guest  at  the  quiet 
fireside  of  the  widow.  Thoughtful  and  attentive 
to  Mrs.  Leland,  he  had  already  yielded  her  the  de 
votion  of  a  son.  She  was  alone  most  of  the  day, 
but  when  Emma  returned  to  her  at  night,  with 
her  tasks  completed,  and  they  were  seated  around 
their  little  table,  and  Emma  herself  prepared  the 
nice  cup  of  tea  that  was  to  refresh  her  invalid 
mother,  and  evening  came,  and  with  it  Lionel, 
with  his  bright,  handsome  face,  and  winning  smile 
and  soft  low  tones;  how  quickly  the  hours  fled 
away !  And  now  she  was  soon  to  be  his  bride. 
Their  cottage  home  in  the  outskirts  of  the  city 
was  already  chosen,  and  thither  they  had  gone  to 
make  arrangements  for  their  removal.  And  who 
so  happy  as  the  lovers,  that  long,  bright,  summer 


FANNY    FERN.  127 

afternoon?  The  little  cottage  rooms  were  care 
fully  inspected ;  the  pretty  rosebush  was  trained 
anew  over  the  low  door-way,  and  the  gardener 
had  especial  orders  to  take  care  of  the  nice  flower 
beds  and  gravel  walks.  Amid  the  last  sweet  carol 
of  the  birds,  when  the  flowers,  heavy  with  the 
falling  dew,  were  drowsily  nodding  their  heads, 
and  the  first  bright  star  of  evening  was  timidly 
stealing  forth ;  in  the  dim,  fragrant  twilight,  again 
and  again  they  exchanged  new  vows  of  love. 

"  When  Emma  remembered  the  dull  and  cheer 
less  past,  life  seemed  now  to  her  a  fairy  dream ; 
she  trembled  to  be  so  happy.  Then  a  dark  shadow 
would  pass  before  her  eyes,  and  she  would  say, 
shudderingly,  '  What  if  a  change  should  come  !  '  but 
she  looked  in  Lionel's  face,  and  remembered  it  no 
more. 

"  Home  was  gained  at  last,  Lionel  assisted  his 
fair  companion  to  alight ;  she  sprang  gaily  up  the 
steps,  and  was  turning  to  wave  her  hand  to  him 
as  he  left,  when  she  saw  a  man  step  up  to  him, 
lay  his  hand  familiarly  on  his  shoulder,  and,  taking 
the  reins  in  his  own  hands,  drive  off.  Supposing 
him  to  be  some  friend,  or  business  acquaintance; 
she  thought  no  more  of  it,  and  passed  into  tlfe 
house. 

"  '  It  is  needless  to  ask  you  if  you  have  enjoyed 


128  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

your  ride,  my  daughter,'  said  Mrs.  Leland,  looking 
with  a  mother's  admiration  at  the  bright  flush  on 
her  cheek,  and  her  sparkling  eye. 

"  '  Oh  !  it  was  so  delightful,  mother,  at  the  cot 
tage  ;  and  we  shall  be  so  happy  there,'  said  the 
fair  girl,  as  she  laid  aside  her  pretty  hat  and  shook 
from  their  confinement  her  long,  bright  tresses. 
Then,  seating  herself  at  the  window,  she  com 
menced  embroidering  a  part  of  her  wedding  dress. 

"  Soon  after,  a  stranger  called  to  see  Mrs.  Leland 
on  business ;  and  Emma  withdrew  to  their  little 
bed-room.  She  was  sitting  there,  busy  with  her 
work ;  a  song,  sweet  as  a  bird's  carol  trembled  on 
her  lips,  when  Mrs.  Leland  returned. 

"  '  Emma ! ' 

"She  turned  her  head  to  see  her  mother's  face 
overspread  with  the  pallor  of  death.  Springing 
to  her  side,  she  said,  *  Mother!  dear  mother!  who 
has  dared?  what  has  troubled  you?  who  is  this 
stranger  ? ' 

"  Her  mother  pointed  to  the  wedding  dress, 
saying,  (as  if  every  word  rent  her  heart-strings,) 

u  'Emma,  you'll  never  need  that!  Lionel  is 
arrested  for  forgery.' 

"  '  'Tis  false  ! '  Emma  would  have  said,  but  the 
words  died  on  her  lips,  and  she  fell  heavily  to  the 
floor. 


FANNY    FEKN.  129 

"  One  fainting  fit  succeeded  another  through 
that  long,  dreary  night,  till  life  seemed  almost  sus 
pended.  Morning  came,  and  woke  the  sufferer  to 
consciousness.  Passing  her  hand  slowly  across 
her  forehead,  as  if  still  bewildered,  and  unable  to 
realize  the  dreadful  change  that  had  passed  over 
her,  she  said, 

"  '  Mother,  I  must  go  to  Lionel !  ' 

"  '  No,  no,'  said  Mrs.  Leland,  '  'tis  no  place  for 
you,  Emma.' 

"  Covering  her  face,  as  if  to  shut  out  some 
dreadful  vision,  she  said,  '  I  care  not  where  I  find 
him,  mother  !  I  must  go  or  die.  "Would  you  kill 
your  child  ? ' 

"  The  succeeding  day  found  her  at  the  prison 
door.  As  the  key  grated  in  the  lock  for  her  ad 
mittance,  she  shuddered  and  hung  back ;  but  it 
was  only  for  an  instant.  Nerving  herself,  as  by  a 
strong  effort,  she  advanced  and  threw  herself, 
fainting,  upon  Lionel's  breast.  As  the  jailer  came 
towards  her,  Lionel  started  to  his  feet,  and  with  a 
fierce  gesture,  motioned  him  off.  Pressing  his  lips 
to  her  cold  forehead,  he  said  to  himself,  *  If  she 
would  but  pass  away  thus ! '  But  death  comes 
not  at  the  bidding  of  the  wretched,  and  there  she 
lay,  that  young,  fair  thing,  with  her  beautiful  head 
bowed  with  grief  and  shame ;  still  loving,  still 


130  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES     OF 

trusting,  through  dishonor  arid  pain,  with  the 
strong,  deep  love  of  a  woman's  heart.  Even  the 
stern  jailer,  though  inured  to  scenes  of  human  suf 
fering,  brushed  away  the  tears  with  his  rough  hand 
from  his  furrowed  cheeks,  and  said,  'God  be  mer 
ciful.' 

"Few  words  were  spoken  by  either,  and  the 
allotted  hour  passed  by.  One  long  embrace — and 
the  wretched  man  was  again  alone  in  his  cell,  with 
an  accusing  conscience ;  the  darker,  the  gloomier 
for  the  angel-light  that  was  withdrawn. 

"  And  Emma !  She  was  borne  back  again  to 
the  arms  that  had  pillowed  her  infancy,  and  laid 
her  head  upon  her  mother's  breast  like  a  tired 
child.  The  agony  of  that  hour  had  done  the  work 
of  years.  The  rose  had  faded  from  the  cheek,  the 
eyes  were  dim  and  lustreless.  She  only  said,  '  I'm 
weary."1 

"  And  so  weeks  passed  by.  Nothing  interested 
her,  nothing  seemed  to  rouse  her  from  her  apathy. 
At  length  news  reached  them  of  Lionel's  escape ! 
The  change  in  Emma  was  instantaneous.  Her 
manner  became  excited,  nervous  and  hurried ;  she 
passed  about  the  house  arranging  everything  to 
the  best  advantage,  as  if  expecting  some  friend  or 
guest. 

<{  One  stormy  night  they  sat  at  their  little  table, 


FANNY    FERN.  131 

each  busy  with,  their  own  sad  memories.  The 
wind  wailed  dismally,  and  the  beating  rain  had 
driven  every  living  thing  to  seek  a  shelter.  Mrs. 
Leland  spoke  of  the  fury  of  the  storm,  and  Emma 
glanced  toward  the  window.  A  dark  face  was 
prest  close  against  it  1  Those  eyes !  (she  passed 
her  hand  across  her  own,  as  if  to  clear  her  vision,) 
those  eyes  were  Lionel's  !  Tottering  as  if  bent  by 
age,  she  staggered  towards  the  door,  and  in  a  mo 
ment  they  were  in  each  other's  arms.  What  a 
night  of  fear,  and  horror,  and  joy  was  that !  for 
he  must  away  before  the  day  should  dawn. 

"  '  Then  you.  go  not  alone,'  said  Emma;  'if  you 
have  sinned  you  have  also  suffered.1 

u  '  Yes,  and  it's  but  right  he  should,'  said  a 
rough  voice,  as  the  door  was  rudely  burst,  and  a 
stout  man  advanced  to  make  him  prisoner. 

"  Lionel  had  prepared  himself  for  this.  A  flash ! 
a  report !  the  lovers  lay  side  by  side.  They  were 
both  prisoners,  but  Death  was  the  jailer  !  " 


0 


XXVII. 

IS    IT    BEST    TO     USE     ENVELOPES? 

1ST  this  question  hear  Fanny  ! 


"  Mrs.  Joseph  Smith  was  the  envy  of  all  the 
wives  in  the  neighborhood.  Such  a  pattern  hus 
band  as  Smith  was,  to  be  sure  !  He  never  went 
across  the  room  without  hugging  his  wife  first, 
and  language  would  fail  to  describe  their  melan 
choly  partings  when  he  *  tore  himself  away,'  to 
go  down  to  the  store.  If  the  wind  got  round 
east  after  he  had  left,  he  always  ran  back  to  tell 
her  to  put  on  an  extra  petticoat;  he  cut  up  her 
food  in  homoeopathic  infinitessimal  bits,  to  assist 
her  digestion,  and  if  she  wanted  an  ice-cream  or  a 
lobster-salad  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  it  was 
forthcoming.  Did  she  have  the  headache,  the 
blinds  were  closed,  the  bell  was  muffled,  and  he 
was  the  most  wretched  of  Smiths  till  she  was 


FANNY    FERN.  133 

convalescent.  He  selected  her  shoe-strings  and 
corset-lacings  himself,  and  when  her  health  was 
too  delicate  to  admit  of  her  accompanying  him 
to  church,  he  always  promised  to  sit  in  the  mid 
dle  of  the  house,  so  that  in  case  the  galleries 
should  fall  he  needn't  be  made  any  flatter  than 
he  was  by  nature. 

"  The  present  Mrs.  Smith  was  his  fourth  wife, 
and  as  Joseph  had  been  heard  to  say,  that  '  the 
more  he  loved  his  Elenore,  the  more  he  loved 
his  Nancy,  and  the  more  he  loved  his  Nancy,  the 
more  he  loved  his  Julia  and  Mary,'  any  one 
with  half  an  eye,  could  see  how  peculiarly  feli- 
citious  Mrs  Mary  SmWs  position  must  be ! 

"  There  never  was  a  sweet  without  a  bitter ; 
and  so  she  found  out,  when  Joseph  announced 
to  her  that  he  '  must  leave  the  little  heaven  of 
her  smiles,  to  go  on  a  short  '  business  trip.'  Mary 
went  into  the  strongest  kind  of  hysterics,  and 
burnt  feathers  and  sal- volatile  couldn't  bring  her 
out  of  them,  till  he  swore  on  the  dictionary  to 
telegraph  to  her  every  hour,  and  carry  his  life 
preserver  and  a  box  of  Kussia  salve. 

"  On  arriving  at  the  depot,  a  gentleman  re 
quested  leave  '  to  place  a  lady  under  his  protec 
tion,'  who  was  travelling  in  the  same  direction. 
Smith  looked  at  her ;  she  was  young  and  pretty, 


134  LIFE     AND    BEAUTIES     OF 

and  dressed  in  deep  mourning.  '  A  widow ! 7 
said  Smith  to  himself.  '  Certainly,  sir,  with 
pleasure.' 

"  How  they  did  get  on !  With  opening  and 
shutting  the  windows  in  the  cars,  pulling  that 
travelling  shawl  round  the  pretty  shoulders  that 
wouldn't  keep  it  up,  and  trying  to  quiet  her  nerves 
when  the  cars  went  through  '  the  dark  places,' 
Smith  didn't  know  any  more  than  you  whether 
they  were  travelling  through  France  or  Spain,  and 
what's  more,  he  didn't  care! 

"Arriving  at  their  place  of  destination  much 
sooner  than  was  necessary,  (conductors  and  engi 
neers  have  no  bowels  of  mercy,)  he  escorted 
the  widow  to  the  house  of  her  friend,  taking  the 
most  disinterested  care  of  the  big  and  little  band 
boxes,  and  was  strongly  tempted  to  put  an  end  to 
the  life  of  the  little  poodle-dog  she  carried  in  her 
arms. 

"  An  hour  after,  he  sat  down  in  his  lonely 
quarters  at  the  hotel,  and  dutifully  drew  towards 
him  a  sheet  of  paper  to  write  to  his  wife.  It  ran 
as  follows  : — 

"  '  MY  DEAREST  WIFE  :  If  you  knew  how  utter 
ly  desolate  I  am  without  you.  I  can  think  of 
nothing  else,  and  feel  entirely  unfitted  for  business. 
As  for  pleasure,  tljat  is  out  of  the  question,  without 


FANNY     FERN.  135 

you.  I've  been  bored  to  death  with  the  care  of 
an  empty-headed  woman — (you  know  I  couldn't 
refuse,  my  angel)  ;  but  I  never  will  be  hampered  so 
again.  I  long  for  the  day  that- will  return  me  to 
your  arms.  Your  loving  husband, 

u  (  T    Q ' 

"  Then  drawing  towards  him  a  nice  sheet  of  em 
bossed  note-paper,  he  penned  the  following: — 

"  '  MY  DEAR  MADAM  :  Those  blue  eyes  have 
never  ceased  to  haunt  me  since  we  parted.  Thank 
you  for  your  flattering  acceptance  of  my  invitation 
to  ride.  1  will  call  for  you  at  four  this  afternoon. 
Till  then,  my  heart  is  with  you. 
''  'Yours,  ever, 

"  'JOSEPH  SMITH.' 

"Full  two  mortal  hours  Joseph  spent  at  his 
'twilight,'  adorning  his  outer  man.  How  those 
whiskers  were  curled  and  perfumed !  What  a  fit 
were  those  primrose  kid  gloves !  How  immacu 
late  was  that  shirt  bosom !  How  excruciatingly 
those  boots  pinched !  The  very  horses  pricked  up 
their  ears  and  arched  their  necks  proudly,  as  if 
they  knew  what  a  freight  of  loveliness  they  were 
to  carry. 

"Arrived  at  the  widow's  Joseph  handed  the 
reins  to  a  servant  and  was  settling  his  pet  curl, 


136          LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

preparatory  to  mounting  the  stairs,  when  a  letter 
was  rudely  thrust  into  his  hand,  and  he  was  un 
ceremoniously  seized  by  that  dickey  and  sent  spin 
ning  out  upon  the  side-walk.  As  soon  as  he  re 
covered  breath,  he  picked  himself  up,  and  looked 
at  the  letter.  Horror  of  horrors  !  He  had  placed 
the  letters  in  the  wrong  envelopes !  The  widow 
had  his  wife's,  and  what  was  worse,  his  wife  the 
widow's!  Oh,  Smith!  Oh,  JOSEPH  Smith! 

"  MOEAL. — Some  think  it  wise  to  use  envelopes; 
1  some  othewise?  Joseph  inclines  to  the  latter  opin 
ion,  and  advises  all  '  pattern  husbands'  to  be  of 
the  same  mind.  His  message  hails  from  Cali 
fornia  I  " 


XXVIII. 

FEMININE    WISDOM. 

T/y~E  insert  the  following  for  the  special  benefit 
of  the  ladies.  It  is  true,  Fanny  yj3ry  character 
istically  informs  us,  that  they  '  don't  all  know  as 
much  as  she  does,'  but  then  that  is  hardly  to  be 
expected. 

"Tupper,  speaking  of  the  choice  of  a  wife,  says, 
'  Hath  she  wisdom  ?  it  is  precious,  but  beware  that 
thou  exceed  ! ' 

"  My  dear  sir,  wasn't  you  caught  napping  that 
time?  Didn't  you  speak  in  meeting?  Didn't 
cloven  feet  peep  out  of  your  literary  shoes  ?  Don't 
it  take  an  American  woman  to  see  through  you ! 
Isn't  that  a  tacit  acknowledgment  that  there  are 
women  who  do  '  exceed  ?  '  Wouldn't  you  think 
so  if  you  lived  this  side  the  pond  ?  Hope  you 


138  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

don't  judge  us  by  John  Bull's  daughters,  who 
stupefy  themselves  on  roast-beef  and  porter.  I  tell 
you  Yankee  women  are  on  the  squirrel  order. 
You'd  lose  your  English  breath  trying  to  follow 
them.  There  isn't  a  man  here  in  America  that 
knows  as  much  as  his  wife.  Some  of  them  own  it, 
and  some  don't,  but  they  all  believe  it,  like  gospel. 
They  ask  our  opinion  about  everything.  Some 
times  straightforward,  and  sometimes  in  a  circle 
— but  they  as7c  it!  There  are  petticoats  i'n  the 
pulpit,  petticoats  in  the  editorial  chair,  petticoats 
in  the  lecturer's  desk,  petticoats  behind  the 
counter,  petticoats  labelled  '  M.  D.'  Oh,  they 
1  exceed  !  '  no  mistake  about  that.  All  femality  is 
wide  awake  over  here,  Mr.  Tupper.  They  crowd, 
and  jostle,  and  push,  just  as  if  they  wore  hats.  I 
don't  uphold  them  in  that,  because,  as  I  tell  them, 
'tis  better  policy  to  play  possum,  and  wear  the 
mask  of  submission.  No  use  in  rousing  any 
unnecessary  antagonism.  But  they  don't  all  know  as 
much  as  I  do.  I  shall  reach  the  goal  j  ust  as  quick 
in  my  velvet  shoes,  as  if  I  tramped  on  rough-shod 
as  they  do,  with  their  Woman's  Rights  Convention 
brogans ! 


XXIX. 

ALWAYS    SPEAK    THE     TRUTH. 

Y17IJY,  Fanny  Fern  !  Did  you  ever  hear  any  old 
saying  about  practising  and  preaching  ?  How 
came  you  ever  to  think  of  this  sentiment  ?  Oh, 
Fanny!  you  are  a  born  writer  of  fiction.  Didn't 
you  prove  your  genius  for  that  sort  of  thing  when 
you  wrote  the  following  ( Fern.7 

"  "Well,  now,  do  you  know  I  did  that,  till  I  came 
very  near  being  mobbed  in  the  street  for  a  curiosi 
ty?  I  was  verdant  enough  to  believe  that  'hon 
esty  was  the  best  policy.'  The  first  astonisher 
that  I  had,  was  on  the  occasion  of  the  visit  of  a 
vain  old  lady  to  our  house,  before  I  was  out  of 
pantalettes.  Her  bonnet  was  stuck  full  of  artificial 
flowers,  looking  as  much  out  of  place  as  a  wreath 
of  rosebuds  on  a  mummy !  Some  such  thought 


140  LIFE     AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

was  passing  through  my  mind,  as  I  stood  looking 
at  her — when,  mistaking  my  protracted  gaze  for 
one  of  admiration,  she  faced  square  about,  and 
asked  me  if  I  didn't  think  they  were  becoming? 
1  No  ma'am,'  said  I,  never  flinching  a  hair.  Didn't 
I  get  a  boxed  ear  for  that  ? 

"  Well,  I  didn't  make  out  much  better  in  my 
subsequent  attempts  to  'speak  the  truth;'  and 
what  visionary  ever  concocted  such,  nonsense,  I'm 
at  a  loss  to  know. 

"  I'd  like  to  put  the  question  to  you,  and  you, 
and  YOU,  and  YOU  ! — Would  the  wheels  of  crea 
tion  ever  'go  ahead'  without  one  everlasting  intol 
erable  squeak,  if  they  were  not  *  oiled  up '  con 
stantly  with  flattery  ?  No  shirking,  now !  no 
dodging  the  question  1  OF  COURSE  they  wouldn't ! 
I  humbly  confess  I  ain't  broke  in  myself,  as  much 
as  I  ought  to  be,  but  I'm  learning  by  degrees !  I 
can't  help  looking  over  my  shoulder  occasionally 
when  anybody  says  a  pretty  thing  to  me  to  see  if 
1  cloven  foot '  is  anywhere  round !  but  that  will 
wear  off  in  time.  It  almost  killed  me  the  first 
time  I  did  the  agreeable  to  a  person  I  had  no  more 
respect  for  than  Judas  Iscariot,  but  I  lived  through 
it,  though  I  don't  take  to  it  naturally ! 

"  I've  a  tell-tale  trick  of  blushing,  too,  when  I'm 
being  delivered  of  a  lie,  that  stands  very  much  in 


FANNY    FERN.  141 

my  light.  I'm  afraid  there's  some  defect  in  my  or 
ganization.  I've  applied  to  two  or  three  young 
physicians,  but  they  only  aggravate  my  complaint. 
I'm  thinking  of  putting  myself  under  the  tuition 
of  -  — ;  if  I  don't  '  take  my  degree '  THEN,  I'll 
give  up  and  done  with  it ! 

"  Oh  dear !  it's  an  awful  thing  to  grow  up  !  to  find 
your  catechise,  and  Jack  the  Giant-Killer,  and  your 
Primer,  and  Mother  Goose,  all  a  humbug!  To 
come  across  a  wolf  making  '  sheep's  eyes  ;  at  a 
lamb ;  to  be  obliged  to  make  a  chalk-mark  on  the 
saints  to  know  them  from  the  sinners  ;  to  see  hus 
bands,  well — THERE  !  when  I  think  of  THEM,  I 
must  wait  till  a  new  dictionary  is  made  before  I 
can  express  my  indignation  !  Wish  I'd  been  intro 
duced  to  Adam  before  he  found  out  it  was  beyond 
him  to  keep  the  commandments.  If  there's  any 
thing  I  hate,  'tis  an  apple!" 


XXX. 

MOSES    MILTIADES    MADISON. 

EVERYBODY   knows   Moses.      He  and  others 

I    i 

like  him,  "  carry  the  bag  "  in  too  many  of  our 
churches.  But  nobody  seems  to  know  him  so  well 
as  Fanny ;  so  we  will  let  her  relate  his  "  experi 
ence,"  in  her  own  words  : 

"Moses  Miltiades  Madison  would  fain  have  the 
world  believe  that  the  stumbling-block  the  fallen 
angels  tripped  over  was  no  besetting  sin  of  his. 

"  The  very  tails  of  his  coat  hung  around  him  in  a 
helpless  kind  of  a  way,  as  if  they  knew  they  ought 
to  be  suggestive  of  their  owner's  humility.  No  sin 
ful  zephyrs  presumed  to  dally  with  the  straight 
locks,  plastered  with  such  puritanical  precision  over 
his  diminutive  head ;  his  mouth  had  a  sanctimo 
nious  drawing  down  at  the  corners,  and  his  voice 
was  a  cross  between  a  groan  and  a  wail.  At  every 


FANNY    FEKN.  143 

prayer-meeting  and  conventicle,  Moses  was  on  the 
ground,  (simultaneously  with  the  sexton,)  made  the 
most  long-winded  prayer ;  elaborated  to  seventh-'Ll&, 
the  verse  he  was  expounding,  and  kept  one  note 
ahead  of  the  singing-choir  in  the  '  doxology ; ' 
knew  exactly  how  long  it  would  be  before  the  na 
tives  of  the  Palm  Tree  Islands  would  dress  more 
fashionably  than  the  wild  beasts  around  them,  and 
was  entirely  posted  up  about  the  last  speech  and 
confession  of  the  very  latest  missionary  whom  the 
savages  had  made  mince-meat  of. 

"  Now  Moses  had  an  invalid  wife  ;  and  his  '  path 
of  duty,'  after  evening  meeting,  generally  laid  in 
the  direction  of  Widow  Grray's  house.  She  was 
'afraid,'  and  he — ivasri'tf  So  he  took  the  prayer- 
book,  the  Bible,  and  the  widow,  under  his  protec 
tion,  and  went  the  longest  way  round.  His  wife, 
to  be  sure,  before  his  return,  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  it  was  a  'protracted  meeting,'  but  then  Moses 
was  'a  burning  and  a  shining  light,'  (at  least  so 
the  '  church '  said,)  and  if  Mrs.  Moses  was  of  a  dif 
ferent  opinion,  she  kept  it  to  herself.  That  he  did 
occasionally  pervert  Scripture  words  and  phrases, 
and  make  a  very  'carnal'  use  of  the  same,  when 
none  of  the  congregation  were  present,  was  an  in 
disputable  fact ;  that  the  crickets,  and  chairs  and 
tables,  sometimes  changed  places  in  a  hurry,  was 


144         LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

another ;  but  the  last  was  probably  owing  to  his 
being  a  '  medium '  for  some  '  spiritual  rappings.' 

"  But  if  Mrs.  Moses  '  kept  dark,'  Jeremiah  Jones 
wouldn't !  He  was  as  thorough  and  straight-for 
ward  in  his  religion  as  he  was  in  building  houses ; 
he  detested  (  sham  foundations,'  as  he  profession 
ally  expressed  it ! 

"  One  night,  in  an  evil  hour,  Moses  popped  up, 
as  usual,  from  his  seat  in  meeting,  intending  to 
give  an  extra  touch  to  his  devotional  exercises,  as 
he  contemplated  taking  a  longer  walk  than  usual 
with  little  Widow  Gray.  So  he  told  '  the  brethren/ 
(through  his  nose,)  that  { if  ever  there  was  a  sinner 
that  deserved  a  very  uncomfortable  place  hereafter, 
it  was  him — (Moses  /) — that  it  was  a  marvel  to  him 
that  he  was  permitted  to  cumber  the  earth,  that 
his  sins  were  more  than  the  hairs  on  his  head,' 
(and,  by  the  way,  that  was  a  very  moderate  com 
putation  !) 

"So  Jeremiah  Jones  seemed  to  think;  for  he 
'riz'  very  demurely,  and  remarked  that  'he  had 
been  brother  Moses  Madison's  neighbor  for  many 
years,  and  was  qualified  to  endorse  that  little  state 
ment  of  his,  with  regard  to  himself,  ^substantially 
correct  in  every  particular  I '  Moses  fainted  !  " 


XXXI. 

TOM  VERSUS  FAN;  OR,  A  LITTLE  TALK 
ABOUT  LITTLE  THINGS. 

the  sketch  thus  entitled,  we  are  once  more 
presented  with  a  life  picture,  a  veritable  tran 
script  of  the  writer's  own  mind.  It  will  be  seen 
that  Fanny  is  au  fait  in  the  mysteries  of  coquetry  ; 
understands  the  use  of  long  dresses,  and  "gaiter- 
boots"  to  perfection.  Just  listen: — 

"  '  Well,  Fan  ;  any  room  for  me  here  ?  '  said  Tom 
Grey,  as  he  seated  himself  in  a  large  arm-chair  in 
his  sister's  boudoir. 

"  '  Possession  is  nine  points  of  the  law,  Tom  ;  it's 
no  use  answering  in  the  negative  now.' 

"  '  I'm  in  a  very  distracted  state  of  mind,  sis,  and 
I've  come  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it  to  you.' 

"  '  Mercy  on  us  !  if  you  are  going  to  confess  your 
7 


146  LIFE     AND    BEAUTIES     OF 

sins,  1  shall  beat  a  retreat ;  the  catalogue  is  longer 
than  my  patience.' 

"  'Listen;  you  know  yesterday  was  one  of  my 
days  for  walking  ?  ' 

"  '  Boisterous  wind,  hey  ?  ' 

"  '  Yes  ;  and  a  man  mtist  use  his  eyes  when  the 
gods  favor  him.  Just  before  me,  in  Washington- 
street,  I  saw  such  a  pair  of  feet !  Now  you  know 
pretty  feet  are  my  passion,  and  '  Cinderella's  '  were 
not  a  circumstance  to  these.  So  I  travelled  on  be 
hind  them,  in  a  state  of  mute  ecatacy,  and  they 
might  have  led  me  to  the  Dead  Sea,  and  I  shouldn't 
have  stopped  to  ask  any  questions !  ' 

11  i  Did  you  see  her  face  ?  ' 

"'Face?— I  didn't  think  of  such  a  thing.  J 
shouldn't  have  cared  if  she  hadn't  any  face.  Of 
course  it  was  pretty  :  nature  wouldn't  have  per 
fected  those  continuations  to  that  degree  and  left — 
but  no  matter,  they  were  '  the  greatest '  feet  for 
little  feet,  I  ever  saw.  All  of  a  sudden  my  goddess 
vanished  into  a  shoe-store,  and  I  stood  gaping  in 
at  the  window  and  wishing  I  was  the  clerk.  Pre 
sently,  the  young  man  handed  her  a  pair  of  boots, 
and  going  round  the  counter,  down  he  goes  on  one 
knee,  and,  by  the  blessed  saints !  if  he  didn't  take 
that  dear  little  foot  in  his  lap  and  try  on  those  boots  ! 
The  rascal  was  twice  as  long  about  it  as  he  need 


FANNY    FERN.  147 

be,  too,  for  after  it  was  all  laced  on,  he  kept '  smooth 
ing  out  the  wrinkles/  as  he  said,  l  on  the  instep.' 
St.  Crispin  !  wasn't  I  furious  !  ' 

a  '  Well — didn't  you  see  her  face,  all  this  time  ?  ' 
"  '  No,  I  tell  you  ;  she  had  one  of  those  curs — I 
beg  pardon — curious  veils  that  you  women  are  so 
fond  of  playing  beau  peep  with  !     But  her  shawl  fell 
off,   and  you'd  better  believe  there  was  a  figure 
under  it  even  those  feet' might  be  proud  to  carry.' 
"  '  Well — let's  have  the  denouement.' 
"  '  She  got  into  an  omnibus — didn't  I  wish  I  was 
the  mat  in  the  bottom  of  it  ?     No  room  for  another 
soul,  outside  or  in,  or  I  should  have  followed  her. 
Wish  T  might  wake  up  and  find  myself  married  to 
those  feet,  some  morning!  ' 

"  'Fan — these  long  skirts  are  very  effective 
weapons  in  the  hands  of  a  pretty  woman.  They 
are  provocative  of  curiosity.  Now  Bloomers — 
ugh!  (a  man  is  disenchanted  at  once;)  but  a  nice, 
plump,  little,  cunning  foot,  creeping  in  and  out, 
mice-like,  from  under  those  graceful  folds — depend 
upon  it,  no  woman  who  knows  anything,  will  ever 
shorten  her  skirts.  A  coquette  does  as  much  exe 
cution  with  them  as  a  Spanish  dame  with  her  fan 
and  mantilla.' 

"  '  Many  a  woman,  when  she  thinks  it  worth  her 
while,  '  gets  up '  an  imaginary  quagmire,  and, 


148  LIFE    AND     BEAUTIES    OF 

presto!  there's  a  pair  of  feet  for  you!  and  then 
down  goes  the  long  skirt  again,  and  a  man's  senses 
with  it.  Jupiter  !  don't  they  understand  it  ?  ' 

11 '  Tom,  if  you  was  worth  the  trouble,  I'd  box 
your  ears  !  Look  out  the  window  there,  I  suppose 
that's  a  man ;  a  cane  and  a  coat-tail  walking  behind  a 
moustache!  Well,  here's  the  thermometer  up  to 
boiling  point,  and  his  coat  is  buttoned  up  tight  to 
his  jugular,  to  show  his  chest  to  the  best  possible 
advantage.  I  don't  believe  if  he  was  stifling, 
he'd  let  his  throat  out  of  prison.  Oh,  vanity  !  thy 
name  is  man  !  I  sat  here  at  the  window,  laughing 
till  I  had  fits,  to  see  that  fellow  prink,  the  other 
morning,  and  make  himself  beautiful.  The  atti 
tudes,  he  practised  !  the  different  styles  of  hair  he 
'  got  up]  and  brushed  down  !  the  neck-ties  he  tried 
on  !  the  way  his  bosom-pin  wouldn't  locate  to  his 
satisfaction  !  were  all  excruciating  to  my  risibles.' 

"  '  Well,  Fan,  you've  no  mercy,  so  1  might  as 
well  say — I  suppose,  as  to  the  comparative  vanitv 
of  men  and  women, — it's  six  of  one  and  half-a- 
dozen  of  the  other;  but  to  change  the  subject.  Do 
you  know  I  was  thinking,  to-day,  that  dentistry 
might  be  made  a  very  fascinating  occupation  if 
one  could  but  choose  one's  customers? ' 

"  'As  how?'  said  Fan. 

"  '  Why   /  should   proceed   after   this   fashion. 


FANNY    FERN.  149 

When  a  pretty  woman  came  to  me,  I  should  plant 
her  down  in  the  crucifying  chair ;  open  sundry 
mysterious-looking  drawers,  spread  out  a  formida 
ble  array  of  instruments  under  her  little  nose,  take 
up  all  the  files,  and  saws,  and  scrapers,  one  by  one, 
and  hold  them  up  to  the  light  to  see  if  they  were 
ready  primed.     Then  I'd  step  round  behind  her 
chair  (getting  napkin,  basin,  and  footstool  fixed  to 
my  satisfaction.)     The  effect  I  calculated  on  being 
produced,  the  little  blue-eyed  victim  would  turn 
pale  and  look  deliciously  imploring  into  my  face — 
then  I'd  use  a  little  '  moral  suasion,'  as  the  minis 
ters  say  —  and  quiet  her  nerves.     Then  follows 
an  examination  of  her  mouth,  (I  should  make  a 
long  job  of  that !)     Yery  likely  the  light  would 
not  be  right,  and  I  should  have  to  move  her  head 
a  little  nearer  to  my  shoulder,  then  it  is  more  than 
probable  her  long  curls  would  get  twisted  round 
the  buttons  of  my  coat ;  there  'd  be  a  web  for  two 
to   unweave !     Then  we'd   commence   again ;  the 
file  in  my  hand  makes  an  unlucky  move  against 
some  sensitive   tooth, — by  that   time  it  is  to  be 
hoped   she'd  be  ready  to   faint,  and    need  some 
thing  held  to  her  lips !     Oh,  Fan,  my  mind  is  in  a 
state  of  vibration  between  dentistry  and  the  shoe 
business  ! ' 

"  <  What   do   you  think    of  the  clerical  profes- 


150  LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES     OF 

sion  ?  '  said  Fan,  laughing.  '  That  would  give  you 
an  opportunity  to  ask  them  plump,  without  any 
circumlocution  or  circumbendibus,  the  state  of  their 
hearts?  You'd  be  of  the  Methodist  persuasion, 
of  course,  and  patronize  '  Love  Feasts.' 

"  '  Not  a  bit  of  it.  If  I  went  into  that  line  of 
business,  I'd  be  a  Roman  Catholic  priest,  and  get 
up  a  confession  box,  and  the  first  exercise  of  my 
authority  after  that  would  be  to  get  you  into  a 
nunnery  somewhere.  I  never  saw  a  <  Fanny '  yet 
that  wasn't  as  mischievous  as  Satan.' 

" '  The  name  is  infectious,  my  dear ;  can't  you 
get  it  changed  for  me  ?  Speaking  of  that,  Tom, 
you  know  that  '  miserable  young  man '  that  talked 
so  freely  of  (  prussic  acid  and  daggers '  once  on  a 
time  ?  May  I  die  an  old  maid  if  he  isn't  the 
owner  of  a  pretty  little  wife  and  two  or  three  chil 
dren — he  is  as  fat  as  a  porpoise,  merry  as  a  cricket, 
gay  as  a  lark — don't  he  sing  out  to  me  '  how  d'ye 
do  Fan  ? '  in  the  most  heart-whole  fashion,  as  if  he 
never  said  anything  more  than  that  to  me  all  the 
days  of  his  life  !  Oh,  Torn  !  men  have  died — and 
worms  have  eaten  ''em — but — not  for  love  ! ' 

"  '  Do  women  ever  die  for  love  ? ' 

"  '  Heaven  forbid  !  I  did  see  a  man  the  other 
day,  though,  oh  Tom  1 ! — never  mind  ;  he's  gone — 
with  your  '  little  feet; '  vanished  into  that  grave  of 


F  A  N  X  Y     FERN.  151 

our  mutual  hopes — an  omnibus!  my  heart  went 
with  him — such  a  figure  as  he  had  !  Saints  and 
angels !  wouldn't  I  like  to  see  him  again  ?  I've 
had  an  overpowering  sensation  of  goneness  ever 
since !  and  speaking  of  goneness,  won't  you  walk 
out,  before  you  light  that  horrid  cigar.' ' 


XXXII. 

A  LETTER  TO  THE  TEUE  FLAG. 

Next  get  into  the  habit  of  writing  letters  to  your  female 
acquaintances,  which  will  draw  from  them  replies;  from  both 
of  which  sources  you  will  in  time  learn  enough  of  female 
vanity  and  sentimentality  to  form  the  ground-work  of  a  love- 
story.—  True  Flag,  No.  39. 

T\EAR  ME.  TRUE  FLAG:— I'm  appointed  «a 
committee  of  one/  to  inquire  who  perpetrated 
that  sentiment  in  your  last  week's  paper  ?  Trot  him 
out!  please,  and  let  me  put  my  two  eyes  on  him  ; 
and  if  looking  will  annihilate  him,  there  shan't  be 
anything  left  for  the  undertaker  to  shovel  up.  I'm 
indignant,  very  !  and  what's  more  ;  /  don't  like  it  ! 
"  '  Female  vanity  and  sentimentality  /'  Oh,  Deli 
lah,  Dolly,  Julia,  Jane,  Agnes,  Amelia,  Kathleen, 
Kitty,  your  letters  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Philis 
tines,  and  that's  their  epitaph  ! 

"''Female    vanity   and  sentimentality /'       0-o-h I 


FANNY    FERN.  153 

May  you  never  have  a  string  to  your  dickey,  or  a 
dickey  to  your  string  !  button  to  your  coat,  or  a 
pair  of  whole  gloves  or  stockings.  May  you  sit  in 
a  state  of  utter  inconsolability  over  your  unswept, 
untidy  hearth,  and  bachelor  fire.  May  you  never 
have  a  soft  place  to  lay  your  head  when  it  aches ; 
no  nice  little  hand  to  magnetize  away  the  blue  de 
vils  ;  nobody  to  jump  up  on  a  cricket  and  tie  -your 
neck-cloth  in  a  pretty  little  bow  !  No  bright  eyes 
to  look  proudly  out  the  window  after  you  when 
you  go  down  to  the  store  !  no  pretty  little  feet  to 
trip  to  the  door  to  meet  you  when  you  come  back ! 
May  your  coffee  be  smoky,  your  toast  burnt,  your 
tea  be  water-bewitched ;  your  razor  grow  dull,  your 
moustache  turn  the  wrong  way !  your  boots  be 
1  corned  I"1  your  lips  be  innocent  of  a  kiss  from  this 
day,  henceforward  and  forever ;  and  may  you  die 
a  cantankerous,  crusty,  captious,  companionless, 
musty,  fusty  old  Benedict !  Amen  ! 

"FANNY  FERN. 

"  P.  S.— If  he's  handsome,  dear  Mr.  Flag,  we'll 
remove  the  anathema,  and  let  him  off  with  a  slight 
reprimand,  under  promise  of  better  behavior. 

"F.  F." 


XXXIII. 

THE  ORPHAN.  —  BY  FANNY  FERN. 

TT  was  a  rough,  dark,  unsightly-looking,  old  farm 
house.  The  doors  were  off  the  hinges,  panes  of 
glass  were  broken  in  the  windows,  the  grass  had 
overgrown  the  little  gravel-path,  and  the  pigs  and 
poultry  went  in  and  out  the  door  as  if  they  were 
human.  Farmer  Brady  sat  sunning  his  bloated  face 
on  the  door-step,  stupid  from  the  effects  of  the  last 
debauch  ;  his  ungainly,  idle  boys  were  quarrelling 
which  should  smoke  his  pipe,  and  two  great  romps 
of  girls,  with  uncombed  locks  and  tattered  clothes, 
were  swinging  on  the  gate  in  front  of  the  house. 

"Everything  within  doors  was  in  keeping  with 
the  disorder  that  reigned  without,  save  a  young, 
fair  girl,  who  sat  at  the  low  window,  busily  sewing 
on  a  coarse  garment.  Her  features  were  regular 
and  delicate,  her  hands  and  feet  small  and  beauti- 


FANNY     FERN.  155 

fully  formed,  and  despite  her  rustic  attire,  one  could 
see  with  a  glance  that  she  was  a  star  that  had  wan 
dered  from  its  sphere. 

111 1  say,  Lilla,'  said  one  of  the  hoydens,  bound 
ing  into  the  kitchen  and  pulling  the  comb  out  of 
Lilla's  head,  as  she  bent  over  her  work,  shedding 
the  long,  brown  hair  around  her  slight  figure  till 
her  white  shoulders  and  arms  were  completely 
veiled ;  * 1  say,  make  haste  about  that  gown.  Ma 
said  you  should  finish  it  by  noon,  and  you  don't 
sew  half  fast  enough.' 

Lilla's  cheeks  flushed,  and  the  small  hands  wan 
dered  through  the  mass  of  hair  in  the  vain  attempt 
to  confine  it  again,  as  she  said,  meekly,  '  Won't 
you  come  help  me,  Betsey  ?  my  head  aches  sadly, 
to-day.' 

'"No,  I  won't.  You  think  because  you  are  a 
lady,  that  you  can  live  here  on  us  and  do  nothing 
for  a  living ;  but  you  won'tt  and  you  are  no  better 
than  Peggy  and  I,  with  your  soft  voice,  and  long 
hair  and  doll  face.'  So  saying,  the  romp  went  back 
again  to  her  primitive  gymnasium,  the  gate. 

Lilla's  tears  flowed  fast,  as  her  little  fingers  flew 
more  nimbly,  and  by  afternoon  her  task  was  com 
pleted,  and  she  obtained  permission  from  her  jailers 
to  take  a  walk.  It  was  a  joy  to  Lilla  to  be  alone 
with  nature.  It  was  a  relief  to  free  herself  from 


156  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

vulgar  sights  and  sounds,  to  exchange  coarse  taunts, 
and  rude  jests,  and  harsh  words,  for  the  song  of 
birds,  the  ripple  of  the  brook,  and  the  soft  murmur 
of  the  wind  as  it  sighed  through  the  tall  tree-tops. 
<(  Poor  Lilla  !  with  a  soul  so  tuned  to  harmony, 
to  be  condemned  to  perpetual  discord !  Through 
the  long,  bright,  summer  days,  to  drudge  at  her 
ceaseless  toil,  at  the  bidding  of  those  harsh  voices ; 
at  night,  to  creep  into  her  little  bed,  but  to  recall 
tearfully  a  dim  vision  of  childhood.  A  gentle, 
wasted  form;  a  fair,  sweet  face,  growing  paler, 
day  by  day  ;  large,  lustrous,  loving  eyes,  that  still 
followed  her  by  day  and  night ;  then,  a  confused 
recollection  of  a  burial — afterwards  a  dispute  as  to 
her  future  home,  ending  in  a  long,  dismal  journey. 
Since  then,  scanty  meals,  the  harsh  blow,  coarse 
clothing,  taunting  words  and  bitter  servitude  ;  and 
then  she  would  sob  herself  to  sleep  as  she  asked, 
'  Must  it  always  be  thus  ?  is  there  none  to  care  for 
me?' 

"  The  golden  days  of  summer  faded  away ;  the 
leaves  put  on  their  dying  glory,  the  soft  wind  of 
the  Indian  summer  lifted  gently  the  brown  tresses 
from  Lilla's  sweet  face.  She  still  took  her  accus 
tomed  walks,  but  it  was  not  alone.  A  stranger 
had  taken  up  his  residence  at  the  village  inn.  He 
had  met  Lilla  in  her  rambles,  and  his  ready  inge- 


FANNY    FERN.  157 

nuity  soon  devised  a  self-introduction.  He  satis 
fied  himself  that  she  claimed  no  affinity  to  the 
disorderly  inmates  of  the  farm-houee ;  he  drew 
from  her  her  little  history,  and  knew  that  she  was 
an  orphan,  unprotected  in  her  own  sweet  innocence, 
save  by  Him  who  guards  us  all. 

"  And  so — the  dewy,  dim  twilight  witnessed 
their  meetings,  and  the  color  came  to  the  pale 
cheek  of  Lilla,  and  her  eyes  grew  wondrously 
beautiful,  and  her  step  was  as  light  as  her  heart, 
and  harsh  household  words  fell  to  the  ground  like 
arrows  short  of  the  mark — for  Lilla  was  happy. 
In  the  simplicity  of  her  guileless  heart,  how  should 
she  know  that  Yincent  lived  only  for  the  present  ? 
that  she  was  to  him  but  one  of  many  beautiful 
visions,  admired  to-day — forgotten  to-morrow  1  It 
was  such  a  joy  to  be  near  him,  to  feel  herself 
appreciated,  to  know  that  she  was  beloved ! 

"  And  so  time  passed  on ;  but  their  meetings 
had  not  been  unnoticed ;  rough  threats  were 
uttered  to  Lilla  if  they  were  continued,  for  she 
had  made  herself  too  useful  to  be  spared.  All 
this  was  communicated  to  her  lover,  as  they  met 
again  at  the  old  trysting-place,  and  then,  as  she 
leaned  trustingly  on  his  arm,  Vincent  whispered 
in  her  ear  words  whose  full  import  she  understood 
not.  Slowly  the  truth  revealed  itself!  Her  slight 


158  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

figure  grew  erect,  as'  site  withdrew  from  his 
supporting  arm — her  soft  eye  flashed  with  indig 
nation,  and  the  man  of  the  world  stood  abashed  in 
the  presence  of  innocence.  A  moment — and  lie 
was  alone,  beneath  the  holy  stars  ! 

"  That  night,  Lilla  fled  her  home ;  she  could 
scarce  be  more  desolate  or  unprotected.  The  next 
day  found  her,  foot-sore  and  weary,  in  the  heart 
of  the  great  city,  startled  and  trembling  like  the 
timid  deer  fleeing  from  its  pursuers. 

Lilla  knew  that  she  was  beautiful.  She  read  it 
in  the  lengthened  gaze  of  the  passers-by.  Friend- 
lesSj  houseless  and  beautiful !  God  help  thee, 
Lilla! 


"  In  a  dark,  unhealthy  garret  sat  Lilla  !  Her 
face,  still  lovely,  was  pale  as  marble ;  her  fingers 
flew  with  lightning  rapidity  over  the  coarse  work 
that  yielded  her  only  a  shelter;  but  there  were 
angel  faces,  (unseen  by  her,)  smiling  approval,  and 
she  could  clasp  those  small  hands  when  the  clay's 
toil  was  over,  and  say  '  Our  Father,'  with  the 
innocent  heart  of  childhood,  and  invisible  ones 
had  charge  to  guard  her  footsteps,  and  'He  who 
feedeth  the  ravens,'  gave  her  'daily  bread.' 

"  One  day  she  took  her  little  bundle,  as  usual, 
to  the  shop  of  her  employers,  and,  while  waiting 


FANNY     FERN.  159 

for  the  small  pittance  due,  her  eye  fell  upon  an 
advertisement  '  for  a  housekeeper,'  in  a  newspaper 
before  her.  But  how  could  she  obtain  it  ?  without 
recommendation,  without  friends.  She  resolved  to 
try.  Her  little  hand  trembled  nervously  as  she 
pulled  the  bell  of  the  large,  handsome  house.  She 
was  preceded  by  the  servant  into  the  library, 
where  sat  a  fine-looking  man  in  the  prime  of  life. 
He  looked  admiringly  upon  the  shrinking,  modest 
face  and  form  before  him.  She  told  him,  in  a  few 
simple  words,  her  history. 

"  The  eccentric  old  bachelor  paused  for  a  mo 
ment,  then  taking  her  hand,  he  said,  '  I  advertised 
for  a  housekeeper — but  I'm  more  in  need  of  a  wife. 
Will  you  marry  me  ? ' 

"And  so  Lilla  became  a  happy,  honored  wife; 
and  if  a  flush  passes  over  her  sweet  face  when  she 
meets  Vincent  in  the  circle  of  her  husband's  ac 
quaintances,  it  is  from  no  lingering  feeling  of  affec 
tion  for  the  treacherous  heart  that  held  in  such 
light  estimation  the  sacred  name  of  orphan" 


XXXIV. 

AN     ANSWER     TO     MRS.     CROWE.  —  BY 
FANNY     FERN. 

"  { I  incline  to  think  that  a  girl  really  in  love — one  who 
bore  the  evident  symptoms  of  the  malady — would  be  thought 
very  improper ;  yet  I  have  often  fancied  that  there  must  be 
a  man  born  in  the  world  for  every  woman ;  one  whom  to  see 
would  be  to  love,  to  reverence,  to  adore  ;  one  with  whom  her 
sympathies  would  so  entirely  blend,  that  she  would  recognize 
him  at  once  her  true  lord.  Now  and  then  these  pairs  come 
together  ;  and  woe  to  her  who  meets  this  other  self  too  late.'  " 
— Mrs.  Crowe, 

AIT,  my  dear  Mrs.  Crowe,  don't  speak  of  it! 
Isn't  it  dreadful  to  think  of?  It  is  not  only 
woe,  but  WHOA  ! !  You  mustn't  look  at  him,  wo 
man  alive ;  nor  think  of  him.  Just  number  over 
all  Mr.  Crowe's  excellencies  on  your  ten  fingers ; 
get  married  over  again,  (if  it  will  help  you  any) ; 
do  anything  but  think  of  that  '  other  self'  I've  no 


FANNY    FERN.  161 

manner  of  doubt  but  Satan  will  send  him  across 
your  path  at  every  turn  and  corner.  Turn  your 
head  away,  if  you  can't  your  heart.  The  more  you 
like  him,  the  more  you  mustn't  let  him  see  it ;  but, 
my  gracious !  you  MUSTN'T  like  him !  of  course 
you  understand  THAT  !  Shut  your  eyes  to  moon 
light  and  starlight ;  peruse  Euclid  and  Walker's 
Dictionary,  (NOT  WEBSTER'S !)  and  Lives  of  the 
Martyrs,  and  the  Almanac.  Don't  make  your 
heart  soft,  reading  poetry,  or  hearing  music.  Live 
low  and  look  high  ;  redouble  your  attention  to  Mr. 
Crowe ;  drive  round  as  if  you  hadn't  a  minute  to 
live ;  where  you  used  to  put  one  stitch  in  your 
husband's  coat,  put  a  dozen  now  !  Take  good  care 
of  the  little  c  Crowes  ! '  and  NEVER  let  Mr.  Crowe 
go  on  a  journey,  in  these  days  of  steamboat  acci 
dents  and  railroad  collisions  !  He  might  get  hurt, 
you  know  I  How  can  you  tell  ?  'TISN'T  SAFE  1" 


XXXV. 

MRS.  FARRINGTON  ON  MATRIMONY. 

"FANNY  has  " tried  it,"  and  she  knows. 

•'Sambo,  what  am  your 'pinion  'bout  de  married  life? 
Don't  you  tink  it  de  most  happiest  ?  " 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  'bout  dat  ere— 'pends  altogether  how 
dey  enjoy  themselves." 

"Sambo!  Sambo!  be  quiet!  You  needn't 
always  tell  the  truth.  White  folks  don't.  Just  as 
sure  as  you  do  it,  you'll  lose  every  friend  you  have. 

"  Don't  roll  up  the  whites  of  your  eyes  at  me 
that  way.  It's  gospel  I'm  telling  you.  I  promise 
you  I  don't  go  through  creation  with  my  eyes  shut ; 
and  I've  found  out  that  good  people  always  tell 
the  truth  when  it  don't  conflict  with  their  interests; 
and  they  like  to  hear  it  from  you  when  it  hits  none 
of  their  peculiaristicks  !  There's  your  chart  and 
compass,  so  shape  your  course  accordingly. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  intend  to  insinuate  that  mat- 


FANNY     FERN.  163 

rimony  isn't  paradise  !  Guess  3^011  forget  how  be 
witching  they  look  when  they  stand  up  before  the 
minister,  promising  all  sorts  of  pretty  things  and 
afraid  to  look  each  other  in  the  eye  !  Orange 
wreaths  and  bouquet  de  humbug — alabaster  kid 
gloves — hair  curled  within  an  inch  of  their  lives — - 
Brummel  neck-tie,  patent  boots,  satin  slippers  and 
palpitating  hearts !  Oh,  Sambo  !  can't  make  me 
believe  a  cloud  ever  comes  over  such  a  blue  sky 
— no  indeed!  They're  just  as  contented  a  twelve 
month  after,  as  a  fly  in  a  spider's  web. 

"  You  never  saw  a  husband  yet,  that  wasn't  as 
docile  as  a  lamb  when  everything  went  to  his  mind. 
Don't  they  always  love  and  cherish  their  wives  as 
long  as  there  is  a  timber  left  of  them  ?  Wouldn't 
they  extinguish  the  lamp  of  life  for  any  man,  or 
woman,  who  dare  say  a  word  to  their  dispraise? 
Would  they  ever  do  that  same  themselves  ?  An 
swer  me  that? 

*'  And  as  to  wives  ;  they  are  as  easily  driven  as 
a  flock  of  sheep  when  a  locomotive  comes  tearing 
past.  Oh  !  y-e-s,  Sambo,  matrimony  is  a  '  blessed 
institution,'  so  the  ministers  say,  (finds  'em  in  fees, 
you  know !)  and  so  everybody  says — except  those 
who  have  tried  it  f  So  go  away,  and  don't  be  wool- 
gathering.  You'll  never  be  the  (  Uncle  Tom'  of 
your  tribe." 


XXXVI. 

A    WHISPER    TO    ROMANTIC    YOUNG 
LADIES. 

"  A  crust  of  bread,  a  pitcher  of  water,  a  thatched  roof,  and 
love, — there's  happiness  for  you." 

r\  IRLS  !    that's  a  humbug  !     The  very  thought  of 
it  makes  me  groan.     It's  all  moonshine.     In 
fact,  men  and  moonshine  in  my  dictionary  are  syn 
onymous. 

"  Water  and  a  crust !  RATHER  spare  diet !  May 
do  for  the  honey-moon.  Don't  make  much  differ 
ence  then,  whether  you  eat  shavings  or  sardines — 
but  when  you  return  to  substantiate,  and  your 
wedding  dress  is  put  away  in  a  trunk  for  the  ben 
efit  of  posterity,  if  you  can  get  your  husband  to 
smile  on  anything  short  of  a  '  sirloin'  or  a  roast 
turkey,  you  are  a  lucky  woman. 


FANNY    FEKN.  165 

"Don't  every  married  woman  know  that  a  man 
is  as  savage  as  a  New  Zealander  when  he's  hun 
gry  ?  and  when  he  comes  home  to  an  empty  cup 
board  and  meets  a  dozen  little  piping  mouths,  (ne 
cessary  accompaniments  of  'cottages'  and  'love,' 
clamorous  for  supper,  '  Love  will  have  the  sulks,1 
or  my  name  isn't  Fanny.  Lovers  have  a  trick  of 
getting  disenchanted,  too,  when  they  see  their 
Aramintas  with  dresses  pinned  up  round  the 
waist,  hair  powdered  with  sweeping,  faces  scowled 
up  over  the  wash-tub,  and  soap-suds  dripping 
from  red  elbows. 

"  "We  know  these  little  accidents  never  happen 
in  novels — where  the  heroine  is  always  *  dressed 
in  white,  with  a  rose-bud  in  her  hair,'  and  lives  on 
blossoms  and  May  dew  !  There  are  no  wash-tubs 
or  gridirons  in  her  cottage  ;  her  children  are  born 
cherubim,  with  a  seraphic  contempt  for  dirt  pies 
and  molasses.  She  remains  '  a  beauty '  to  the 
end  of  the  chapter,  and  '  steps  out '  just  in  time  to 
anticipate  her  first  gray  hair,  her  husband  drawing 
his  last  breath  at  the  same  time,  as  a  dutiful  hus 
band  should]  and  not  falling  into  the  unrornan- 
tic  error  of  outliving  his  grief,  and  marrying  a 
second  time ! 

"  But  this  humdrum  life,  girls,  is  another  affair, 
with  its  washing  and  ironing  and  cleaning  days, 


166  LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES     OF 

when  children  expect  boxed  ears,  and  visitors 
picked-up  dinners.  All  the  '  romance '  there  is  in 
it,  you  can  put  under  a  three-cent  piece ! 

"  St.  Paul  says  they  who  marry  do  well  enough, 
but  they  who  don't  marry  do  WELL-ER  !  Sensible 
man  that.  Nevertheless,  had  /flourished  in  those 
times,  I  would  have  undertaken  to  change  his  sen 
timents  ;  for  those  old-fashioned  gentlemen  were 
worth  running  after. 

"  One  half  the  women  marry  for  fear  they  shall 
be  old  maids.  ISTow  I'd  like  to  know  why  an  old 
maid  is  to  be  snubbed,  any  more  than  an  old 
bachelor  ?  Old  bachelors  receive  '  the  mitten,' 
occasionally,  and  old  maids  have  been  known  to 
outlive  several  ' offers.'  They  are  both  useful  in 
their  way — particularly  old  bachelors  ! 

"  Now  /intend  to  be  an  old  maid  ; '  and  I  shall 
found  a  mutual  accommodation  society,  and  admit 
old  bachelors  honorary  members.  They  shall  wait 
on  us  evenings,  and  we'll  hem  their  pocket  hand- 
kerc^ers  and  mend  their  gloves.  No  lays  under 
thirty  to  be  admitted.  Irreproachable  dickeys, 
immaculate  shirt-bosoms  and  faultless  boots  indis 
pensable.  Gentlemen  always  to  sit  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  room — no  refreshments  but  ices!  In 
stant  expulsion  the  consequence  of  the  first  attempt 
at  love-making  !  No  allusion  to  be  made  to  Moore 


FANNY     FERN.  167 

or  Byron !  The  little  '  bye-laws  '  of  the  society 
not  to  be  published  !  Moonlight  evenings,  the 
sisters  are  not  at  home !  the  moon  being  con 
sidered,  from  time  immemorial,  an  unprincipled 
magnetiser !  " 


XXXVII. 

A    WOMAN    WITH    A    SOUL. 

"  A  new  affectation  is  to  speak  of  the  soul  as  feminine.  For 
example,  the  London  papers  announce  the  third  edition  of 
'  The  Soul,  HER  sorrows,  and  HER  aspirations.' " 

T  always  thought  John  Bull  was  a  goose ;  now  I 
know  it!  A  woman  with  a  soul!  I  guess  so! 
(made  out  of  an  old  spare-rib!)  What  on  earth 
does  she  want  of  a  soul?  First  thing  you  know, 
she'd  be  eating  of  the  '  tree  of  knowledge,'  and 
we  had  enough  of  that  in  Eve's  day ;  I  tell  you 
there  are  none  but  masculine  souls. 

"It  is  a  matter  of  astonishment  and  thanksgiving 
to  me  that  men  condescend  to  notice  us  at  all.  I 
trust  all  the  sisters  feel  their  inferiority,  and  know 
how  to  keep  their  place,  as  well  as  /  do !  It's 
next  door  to  martyrdom  when  they  speak  to  me, 
I'm  in  such  a  '  fluster'  for  fear  I  shall  make  some 


FANNY     FERN.  169 

wretched  blunder.  It  is  as  much  as  ever  I  dare  to 
LOOK  at  them,  but  when  it  comes  to  TALKING,  I'm 
entirely  nonplussed !  If  by  good  luck  I  catch  an 
idea,  I  chase  it  round  till  I  lose  it ;  and  if  I  were 
to  swallow  a  whole  dictionary,  I  couldn't  clothe 
that  idea  in  words !  Oh}  dear  !  wish  I  had  a  '  soul,' 
just  to  see  how  it  would  seem  !  It  would  be  so  re 
freshing  to  have  a  new  sensation  1 " 
8 


XXXVIII. 

CLEEICAL     COUETING. 

THE  following  sketch,  published  by  Mrs.  Far- 
•*•  rington  under  the  name  of  Fanny  Fern,  is  a 
graphic  life-picture.  We  are  informed  that  a 
worthy  gentleman  connected  with  her  family  by 
marriage,  sat  for  the  portrait  of  Ephraim. 

"  Mr.  Ephraim  Leatherstring  labored  under  the 
hallucination  that  he  had  a  call  to  preach  the 
gospel  to  the  heathen.  He  had  hitherto  hid  his 
1  light  under  a  bushel '  in  the  worldly  occupations 
of  mending  fences,  felling  trees,  driving  cattle  and 
shoeing  horses.  Conceiving  that  the  chief  quali 
fications  for  his  new  office  were  a  pair  of  green 
spectacles,  and  a  long,  petticoat-y,  ministerial  cloak, 
he  forthwith  equipped  himself  in  this  spiritual  ar 
mor,  and  presented  himself  before  '  the  Board  ;  '  by 


FANNY    FERN.  171 

whom,  after  examination,  lie  was  pronounced  a 
perfect — shingle!  and  forthwith  set  apart  for  the 
work. 

"  His  passage  was  spoken  in  the  Sea-Gull  for 
the  Ourang  Outang  Islands,  and  his  sea-chest  duly 
stored  with  '  Village  Melodies  '  and  penny  tracts, 
when  it  was  intimated  to  him  by  '  the  Board '  that 
it  would  be  advisable  for  him  to  provide  himself 
with  a  help-meet  before  starting.  Whether  they 
feared  his  yoking  with  an  unbeliever,  or — '-well — 
no  matter  ;  any  way,  two  days'  grace  were  allowed 
him  to  find  Mrs.  Epliraim  Leather  sir  ing.  Letters  of 
introduction  to  three  damsels  were  given  him, 
whose  parents'  principles  were  known  to  be  '  dyed 
in  the  wool.' 

"Now  this  little  matrimonial  luxury  had  not 
been  thought  of  by  Ephraim ;  or,  if  it  had,  was 
quickly  banished  from  his  mind  as  a  temptation  of 
Satan,  and  quite  incompatible  with  his  new  calling. 
However,  coming  to  him  recommended  by  such 
high  authority,  '  Barkis  was  willing  I ' 

"  His  first  call  was  upon  Miss  Charity  Church. 
She  was  absent  on  a  visit.  Unfortunate  female  1 1 
ISTo  chance  for  her  to  see  the  Ourang  Outang  Is 
lands  !  Ephraim  began  to  feel  nervous,  for,  now 
he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  be  a  victim,  he  didn't 
like  to  be  disappointed. 


172  LIFE     AND    BEAUTIES     OF 

"  Nothing  daunted,  he  wended  his  way  to  Deacon 
Pettebone's.  His  daughter  Merinda  was  as  round 
as  a  barrel  and  much  the  same  shape,  as  rosy  as 
an  apple  and  quite  as  sweet,  and  had  been  brought 
up  by  the  deacon,  and  that's  enough  said!  Eph. 
made  known  his  errand  to  the  deacon,  who  was 
highly  delighted  at  the  honor  about  to  be  confer 
red  on  his  family,  and  left  him  alone  with  his 
chubby  daughter,  not  doubting  that  she  would  be 
of  the  same  opinion.  Now  Ephraim,  (spite  of  his 
long  cloak  and  green  spectacles,)  had  made  the  ac 
quaintance  of  several  other  damsels  in  the  course  of 
his  earthly  pilgrimage ;  but  he  knew  that  this 
missionary  wooing  was  to  be  got  up  on  a  new 
principle ;  so  he  decorously  seated  himself  in  the 
farthest  corner  of  the  room,  placed  the  palms  of 
his  hands  together,  allowing  the  two  forefingers  to 
meet,  and  began  to  tell  '  his  experience,'  by  way 
of  solemnizing  her  mind,  to  all  of  which  Merinda 
appeared  to  listen  with  becoming  gravity.  He 
then  informed  her,  that  he  and  *  the  Board '  had 
decided  to  invite  her  to  be  his  co-worker  and  fellow- 
laborer  in  the  Ourang  Outang  vineyard.  Then, 
peering  over  his  green  spectacles  at  Merinda,  who 
sat  stuffing  the  corners  of  her  checked  apron  in 
her  mouth,  he  said,  '  Silence  gives  consent.  Let  us 
pray."1  When  he  arrived  at  Amen,  and  turned  his 


FANNY    FEEN.  173 

head  to  reward  himself  with  a  long  look  at  his 
future  wife,  Merinda  was  among  the  missing; 
rolling  on  the  grass  at  the  back  part  of  the  house, 
in  a  perfect  paroxysm  of  laughter !  Ephf  had  no 
more  time  to  waste  on  such  a  sinner,  so  he  picked 
himself  up,  and  his  cloak  was  soon  seen  fluttering 
in.  the  wind,  in  the  direction  of  Parson  Clutter- 
buck's. 

"JSTow  it  was  foreordained  that  Kezia  should  be 
the  chosen  vessel.  She  was  always  at  home,  and 
there  he  found  her ;  as  straight  and  perpendicular 
as  if  she  had  swallowed  the  meeting-house  steeple. 
His  errand  was  soon  made  known — the  form 
slightly  varying  from  the  first  order  of  perform 
ances.  Kezia  straightened  down  the  folds  of  her 
stiffly-starched  neckerchief,  and  said  meekly,  that 
'  she  felt  inclined  to  think  it  was  the  path  of  duty 
for  her;'  which  Eph.  ventured  to  subscribe  to, 
with  the  first  holy  kiss  ;  when  he  started  back  in 
consternation,  on  observing  that  her  red  hair  was 
curled  around  her  face.  He  shook  his  head  omin 
ously,  and  said,  *  he  was  afraid  '  the  Board  '  would 
think  it  had  a  carnal  look,' — but  upon  Kezia's  in 
forming  him  that  it  was  a  defect  she  was  lorn  with, 
they  made  up  their  minds  that  a  little  patience 
and  pomatum  might,  in  time,  remove  this  obstacle 
to  their  usefulness,  and  forthwith  embarked  on  the 


174         LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

sea  of  matrimony,  '  fetching  up '  at  the  Ourang 
Outang  Islands,  just  in  the  wane  of  the  honey 
moon,  strong  in  the  belief  that  the  fate  of  heathen 
millions,  long  since  unborn  (as  Mrs.  Partington 
might  say,)  lay  in  their  matrimonial  hands." 


XXXIX. 

WHAT     FOWLER     SAYS. 

T70WLEE,  the  phrenologist,  who,  probably,  never 
saw  Fanny  Fern,  sanctions  and  publishes  the 
following  from  one  of  her  friends — honest  John 
Walter,  we  suspect.  The  reader  who  has  perused 
the  preceding  pages  can  j  udge  of  its  truthfulness : 

"  Fanny  Fern  is  the  most  retiring  and  unobtru 
sive  of  human  beings.  More  than  any  other  cele 
brity  we  have  ever  known,  she  shrinks  from  per 
sonal  display  and  public  observation.  During  her 
residence  in  this  city  she  has  lived  in  the  most  per 
fect  privacy,  never  going  to  parties  or  soirees,  never 
giving  such  herself,  refusing  to  enlarge  her  circle 
of  friends,  and  finding  full  employment  as  well  as 
satisfaction  in  her  domestic  and  literary  duties. 
She  has  probably  received  more  invitations  to  pri- 


176  LIFE     AND    BEAUTIES     OF 

vate  and  public  assemblies,  and  her  acquaintance 
has  been  more  frequently  sought  by  distinguished 
persons,  during  the  period  of  her  residence  here, 
than  any  other  individual.  To  all  solicitations  of 
this  kind  she  returns  a  mild  but  decided  negative. 
In  the  hotels  at  which  she  has  resided,  no  one,  neither 
landlord  nor  guest,  has  ever  known  her  as  Fanny 
Fern.  Indeed,  she  has  an  abhorrence  of  personal 
publicity,  and  cannot  be  persuaded  to  sacrifice  any 
part  of  the  comfort  of  an  absolute  incog.  We  can 
not  but  approve  her  resolution. 

"Fanny  Fern  is  a  sincerely  religious  woman,  the 
member  of  an  evangelical  denomination,  and  a 
regular  attendant  at  church.  We  never  knew  any 
one  who  believed  in  a  belief  more  strongly  than 
she  in  hers,  or  who  was  more  deeply  grieved  when 
that  belief  was  treated  with  disrespect.  No  one 
stands  less  in  awe  of  conventionalities,  no  one  is 
more  strict  on  a  point  of  honor  and  principle  than 
she.  She  is  a  person  who  is  able  to  do  all  that  she 
is  convinced  she  ought,  and  to  refrain  from  doing 
all  that  she  is  sure  she  ought  not.  In  strength  of 
purpose,  we  know  not  her  equal  among  women. 

"  The  word  which  best  describes  Fanny  Fern  is 
the  word  Lady.  All  her  ways  and  tastes  are  femi 
nine  and  refined.  Everything  she  wears,  every 
article  of  furniture  in  her  rooms,  all  the  details  of 


FANNY    FERN.  177 

her  table,  must  be  clean,  elegant,  tasteful.  Her  at 
tire,  which  is  generally  simple  and  inexpensive,  is 
always  exquisitely  nice  and  becoming.  In  the 
stormiest  days,  when  no  visitor  could  be  expected, 
she  is  as  carefully  dressed  and  adorned  as  though 
she  was  going  to  court.  We  say  as  carefully, 
though,  in  fact,  she  has  a  quick  instinct  for  the 
becoming,  and  makes  herself  attractive  without 
bestowing  much  time  or  thought  upon  the  matter. 
Tier  voice  is  singularly  musical ;  her  manner  varies 
with  her  humor  ;  but  it  is  always  that  of  a  lady. 
One  who  knows  Fanny  Fern  has  an  idea  what 
kind  of  women  they  must  have  been  for  whom, 
knights- errant  did  battle  in  the  Middle  Ages. 

"  With  all  her  strength,  Fanny  Fern  is  extremely 
sensitive.  She  can  enjoy  more,  suffer  more,  love 
more,  hate  more,  admire  more  and  detest  more, 
than  any  one  whom  we  have  known.  With  all 
her  gentleness  of  manner,  there  is  not  a  drop  of 
milk  and  water  in  her  veins.  She  believes  in 
having  justice  done.  Seventy  times  and  seven  she 
could  forgive  a  repentant  brother ;  but  not  once, 
unless  he  repented. 

u  Fanny  Fern  writes  rapidly,  in  a  large,   bold 

hand ;  but  she  sends  no  article  away  without  very 

careful  revision ;  and  her  manuscript  is  puzzling 

to  printers  from  its  numberless  erasures  and  inser- 

8* 


178          LIFE     AND   BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

tions.  She  writes  from  her  heart  and  her  eye ; 
she  has  little  aptitude  or  taste  for  abstract  thought. 
She  never  talks  of  her  writings,  and  cares  little  for 
criticism,  however  severe.  She  is  no  more  capable 
of  writing  an  intentional  double  entendre,  than  the 
gross-minded  men  who  have  accused  her  of  doing 
so  are  capable  of  appreciating  the  worth  of  pure 
womanhood. 

"  Such  are  some  of  our  impressions  of  Fanny 
Fern,  to  which  we  may  add,  that  she  has  the  finest 
form  of  any  woman  in  New  York,  and  that  no 
one  of  the  names  recently  assigned  her  in  the 
papers  is  her  true  name.  In  ordinary  circum 
stances,  we  should  not  have  thought  it  right  thus 
to  describe  the  characteristics  of  a  lady  ;  our  sole, 
and  we  think,  sufficient  justification  is,  the  publica 
tion  of  statements  respecting  her,  only  less  vulgar 
than  calumnious." 


XL. 

THE     OTHER     SIDE. 

THE  following  review  of  Ruth.  Hall  is  from  the 
pen  of  a  talented  woman,  far  above  any  feelings 
of  pique  or  jealousy. 

"  Our  first  recollections  of  '  Fanny  Fern '  are 
connected  with  her  appearance  in  the  Olive 
Branch  a  few  years  since.  We  were  then  entirely 
ignorant  of  her  real  name  and  position,  nor  did 
we,  in  common  with  the  indifferent  public,  feel 
any  particular  interest  or  curiosity  respecting 
them.  The  impression  of  the  careless  reader 
would  have  been  that  the  spicy  scraps  bearing  this 
signature  were  the  production  of  some  hoydenish 
school-girl,  ambitious  to  see  her  writings  in  print. 
With  the  supposition  that  they  were  the  work  of 
a  young  lady,  was  associated  an  indefinite,  but 


180  LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES     OF 

slightly  painful  feeling  that  the  writer  was  not 
sufficiently  endowed  with  female  delicacy.  While 
a  perfect  sketch,  artistically  wrought  out,  and 
disfigured  by  no  defects  of  style  or  coarse  inuen- 
does,  partially  filled  a  column,  the  same  column 
often  contained  another  article,  full  of  these  blem 
ishes.  Vulgar  expressions  and  exclamations  were 
often  used,  though  when  these  writings  were  after 
wards  collected  and  published  in  a  book,  these 
were  carefully  pruned  away.  Some  judicious 
friend  had  evidently  guided  the  pen  to  strike  out 
phraseology  which  would  have  been  injurious  if 
not  fatal  to  Fanny's  rising  fame.  Whether  this 
judicious  friend  was  the  'Mr.  Tibbetts'  through 
whose  agency  her  first  work  was  introduced  to  the 
publishers,  who  received  and  forwarded  to  her  all 
the  proofs,  reading  the  whole  aloud  to  her  as  fast 
as  it  appeared  in  type,  we  are  not  able  to  say. 
Upon  '  Fern  Leaves,'  and  successive  volumes,  thus 
carefully  pruned  of  what  too  plainly  revealed  a 
certain  coarseness  in  the  habits  of  thought  of  the 
writer,  the  public  has  doubtless  passed  a  just 
verdict.  With  the  fame  thus  won,  and  the  inde 
pendence  thus  secured,  would  that  '  Fanny  Fern ' 
had  been  satisfied. 

"  We  do  not   intend  to  attempt  an  elaborate 
review  of  '  Kuth  Hall.'     As  a  novel  it  will  not 


FANNY    FERN.  181 

bear  it.  We  have  read  it  through  twice  without 
catching  any  clew  to  its  merits  or  intentions  as  a 
work  of  art.  Disjointed  fragments  of  what  should 
be  a  beautiful  and  complete  edifice,  are  all  that 
meet  the  eye.  As  in  the  newly  discovered  re 
mains  of  ancient  cities,  monstrous  faces,  carica 
tures  of  humanity,  glare  upon  us  when  we  look  for 
'  the  human  face  divine.'  One  cannot  but  feel 
that  the  mind  of  the  artist  must  have  been  itself 
deformed  to  have  designed  such  monstrosities.  On 
looking  over  the  preface,  we  perceive  that  the 
author  disclaims  the  intention  of  writing  a  novel. 
We  will  therefore  examine  '  Kuth  Hall '  as  an 
auto-biography. 

"  A  work  which  appears  before  the  world,  her 
alded  as  such,  with  the  evident  intention  of  be 
ing  so  understood,  should  above  all  else,  be  dis 
tinguished  for  truth.  Exaggerated,  instead  of 
correct  descriptions,  imaginary  instead  of  real  con 
versations  and  letters,  which  if  genuine,  have  no 
point,  and  if  fictitious,  no  interest,  should  not 
have  been  admitted  to  its  pages.  The  work 
abounds  in  these.  If  '  Euth  Hall '  is  '  Fanny 
Fern,'  then  the  incognito  of  the  latter  is  forever 
laid  aside.  Half  the  charm  attached  to  her  wri 
tings  has  already  vanished.  She  is  no  longer  a 
'  Maid  of  the  Mist,'  whose  silvery  veil  conceals 


182  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

deformities  and  enhances  beauties,  but  plain  l  Fan 
ny  Fern;'  and  'Ruth  Hall'  is  'Fanny  Fern' 
described  by  herself.  Let  us  look  at  this  de 
scription. 

"  '  Ruth  Hall '  is  not  without  vanity.  In  the 
very  first  chapter,  'her  lithe  form  had  rounded 
into  symmetry  and  grace,  her  slow  step  had  become 
light  and  elastic,  her  smile  winning,  and  her  voice 
soft  and  melodious? 

"Again  on  page  48th. 

1  It  was  blessed  to  see  the  love  light  in  Ruth's  gentle  eyes  ; 
to  see  the  rose  chase  the  lily  from  her  cheek  ;  to  see  the  old 
spring  come  back  to  her  step ;  to  follow  her  from  room  to 
room  while  she  draped  the  pretty  white  curtains,  and  beau 
tified  unconsciously  everything  she  touched? 

"We  have  not  space  for  farther  quotations,  but 
must  refer  our  readers  to  the  59th,  61st,  70th,  and 
other  pages  of  the  work,  not  forgetting  the  lengthy 
and  flattering  phrenological  description  commen 
cing  at  page  278. 

"  Another  very  striking  characteristic  of  '  Ruth 
Hall '  is  her  want  of  filial  piety.  If  we  omit 
the  evidences  of  this,  half  the  book  disappears. 
"Whether  the  parents  of  her  deceased  husband, 
respect  for  whose  memory  at  least  should  have 
restrained  her  pen,  or  her  own  relatives,  become 


FANNY     FERN.  183 

the  subjects  of  her  notice,  vulgar  ridicule  and 
pointless  wit  are  unsparingly  lavished  upon  them. 
Whatever  may  have  been  the  faults  of  those  con 
nected  with  'Fanny  Fern's'  past  history,  a  decent 
self-respect  should  have  withheld  her  from  thus 
parading  them  before  the  world.  It  is  well  known 
to  the  public  that  '  Fanny  Fern '  has  been  twice 
married,  but  all  allusion  to  this  circumstance  is 
omitted  in  '  Ruth  Hall.'  How  are  we  then  to 
know  that  this  suppressed  history  may  not  con 
tain  a  partial  justification  of  the  course  pursued  by 
her  friends  ?  One  intimate  with  her  first  husband, 
long  ago  informed  us  that  she  was  a  '  poor  house 
keeper,'  and  '  did  not  make  him  a  comfortable 
home.'  "We  have  therefore  been  half  inclined  to 
sympathize  with  'Mrs.  Hall's'  lamentations  over 
the  missing  accomplishment  of  bread-making. 

"  But  for  infringing  on  the  sacredness  of  com 
munications  intended  to  be  private,  we  could  give 
a  different  aspect  to  other  allusions  in  '  Euth  Hall.' 
Whatever  may  have  been  the  defects  of  'Hya 
cinth  Ellet,'  he  has  never  publicly  failed  to  '  know 
his  father  and  his  mother.'  The  gray  hairs  which 
4  are  a  crown  of  glory  when  found  in  the  way  of 
righteousness,'  should  have  shielded  an  aged  pa 
rent  from  the  irreverent  attacks  of  the  daughter, 
and  the  hollow  cough  of  an  invalid  struggling  with 


184  LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES     OF 

a  yet  more  pitiless  foe,  should  Lave  found  its  way 
to  the  heart  of  the  sister.  When  the  clods  of  the 
valley  shall  rest  upon  the  heads  of  both  father  and 
brother,  we  shall  not  envy  the  emotions  of  'Fanny 
Fern.' 

"  '  Euth  Hall '  proves  herself  capable  of  ingrati 
tude.  Her  earliest  benefactor,  the  kind-hearted 
and  benevolent  man  who  first  encouraged  and 
rewarded  her  timid  efforts,  has  not  been  safe  from 
her  attacks,  even  in  the  grave.  Later  friends 
have  been  as  unhesitatingly  deserted  and  abused. 
Well  may  they  feel  '  how  sharper  than  a  serpent's 
tooth  it  is,  to  have  a  thankless'  friend.  By  the 
aid  of  these,  she  stepped  from  obscurity  into  pub 
lic  notice,  and  now  '  has  110  farther  occasion  for 
her  stepping-stones.' 

"But  self-esteem,  ingratitude,  and  want  of  filial 
piety,  are  venial  sins  compared  with  the  irreve 
rence  for  things  sacred,  which  sullies  the  pages  of 
'  Kuth  Hall.'  The  conversation  of  the  dress 
maker,  that  of  Mr.  Ellet  with  his  ministerial 
friend,  the  allusion  to  Hyacinth's  description  of 
the  Saviour,  with  many  other  briefer  passages, 
had  they  been  written  by  Dickens,  would  have 
been  pronounced  impious.  Written  by  a  professed 
Christian,  what  then  shall  we  call  them?  Filial 


FANNY    FERN.  185 

disrespect  and  religious  irreverence  are  blended  in 
almost  every  page. 

"Bat  'Kath  Hall'  is  represented  as  a  model 
woman,  and  an  exemplary  Christian.  All  that 
*  Fanny  Fern's '  descriptive  talent  could  do  to 
throw  a  charm  about  her  character  has  been  done. 
Whether  the  defects  of  the  heroine  thus  uninten 
tionally  betrayed,  may  not  lessen  our  desire  to 
copy  this  model,  we  will  leave  the  unprejudiced 
reader  to  judge.  One  deeply  read  in  human 
nature  has  said, 


"  '  Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity 

Which  like  the  toad,  ugly  and  venomous, 
Wears  yet  a  precious  jewel  in  its  head.' 

"  Knowing  how  '  sweet  are  the  uses  of  adver 
sity  '  rightly  received  and  improved,  we  cannot 
but  regret  that  '  Fanny  Fern's '  adversity  should 
have  left  to  her  so  much  of  the  '  venomous/ 

"Oat  of  four  hundred  pages  in  '  Euth  Hall' 
seventy-five  are  entirely  blank.  Had  the  remain 
ing  pages  been  left  equally  so,  we  believe  it  would 
have  been  better  for  '  Fanny  Fern '  and  for  the 
world." 


XLI. 

THE     GOOD-NATURED     BACHELOR. 

THIS  individual,  Fanny  Fern  says :— "  Is  jolly, 
sleek,  and  roily -pooly.  Lifts  all  the  little 
school-girls  over  the  mud-puddles,  and  kisses  them 
when  he  lands  them  on  the  other  side.  Ad 
mires  little  babies,  without  regard  to  the  shape 
of  their  noses,  or  the  strength  of  their  lungs. 
Squeezes  himself  into  an  infinitessimal  fragment, 
in  the  corner  of  an  omnibus,  to  make  room  for 
that  troublesome  invidual  one — More!  Vacates 
his  seat  any  number  of  times  at  a  crowded  lecture, 
for  distressed  looking  single  ladies.  Orders  stupid 
cab-drivers  off  the  only  dry  crossing,  to  save  a 
pretty  pair  of  feet  from  immersion,  and  don't 
forget  to  look  the  other  way  when  their  owner 
gathers  up  the  skirts  of  her  dress  to  trip  across. 
Is  just  as  civil  to  a  shop-girl  as  if  she  were  a 


FANNY     FERN.  187 

Duchess;  pays  regularly  for  his  newspaper,  lends 
his  umbrella  and  gpes  home  with  a  wet  beaver ; 
has  a  clear  conscience,  a  good  digestion,  and 
believes  the  women  to  be  all  angels  with  their 
wings  folded  up.  Here's  hoping  matrimony  may 
never  undeceive  him  !  " 


XLII. 

CATCHING  THE  DEAR.  —  BY  FANNY 

FEEN.  - 

"  A  Roman  lady  who  takes  a  liking  to  a  foreigner  does  not 
cast  her  eyes  down  when  he  looks  at  her,  but  fixes  them  upon 
him  long  and  with  evident  pleasure.  If  the  man  of  her 
choice  feels  the  like  sentiment,  and  asks — { Are  you  fond  of 
me  ? ;  she  replies  with  the  utmost  frankness,  '  Yes,  my 
dear.'  » 

"Y"OU  double-distilled  little  simpleton !  don't  you 
•  know  better  than  that  ?  Don't  you  know  that 
courtship  is  like  a  vast  hunting  party? — all  the 
pleasure  lies  in  the  pursuit  ?  That  the  Sport  is  all 
over  when  the  deer  is  caught  ?  Certainly  ;  you 
don't  catch  an  American  girl  '  doing  as  the  Romans 
do.'  She  understands  the  philosophy  of  the  thing, 
and  don't  drop  down  like  a  shot  pigeon  at  the  first 
arrow  from  Cupid's  quiver.  If  she  is  wounded 
ever  so  bad,  she  spreads  her  wings  and  flies  off, 


FANNY    FERN.  189 

alighting  here,  there,  and  everywhere ;  leading  her 
pursuer  through  bog,  ditch  and  furrow  ;  sometimes 
flapping  her  bright  wings  close  to  his  face,  and 
then,  out  of  sight — the  mischief  knows  where — to 
return  again  the  next  minute.  In  this  way  she 
finds  out  how  much  trouble  he  is  willing  to  take 
for  her  ;  and  the  way  he  knows  how  to  prize  her 
when  she  is  caught  would  astonish  your  Eoman 
comprehension,  my  dear. 

"  Now,  I  never  saw  a  masculine  Roman,  but  I 
will  just  tell  you,  in  passing,  that  American  gen 
tlemen  go  by  the  rule  of  contraries.  If  there  are 
any  of  them  whom  you  desire  most  particularly  not 
to  be  bored  with,  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  make  a  pre 
tence  of  the  most  intense  desire  for  their  acquaint 
ance;  and  vice- versa. 

"  Bless  my  soul !  you  haven't  got  so  far  as  A, 
B,  C ;  you  are  in  an  awful  benighted  state  for 
a  female.  I  labored  under  the  impression  that 
the  Foreign  Mission  Society  had  attended  to  the 
evangelization  of  Rome.  I'll  have  some  'col 
porteurs'  sent  over,  without  loss  of  time — you 
little  verdant  Abigail!  saying  'yes,  my  dear,' the 
minute  you  are  'looked  at!  '  If  I  hadn't  so  many 
irons  in  the  fire  I'd  attend  to  your  education 
myself,  you  poor,  ignorant  little  heathen !  " 


XLIII. 

HELEN,     THE     VILLAGE     KOSE-BUD. 


following  tearful  sketch  was  contributed  by 
Fanny  Fern  to  the  True  Flag,  under  the  name 
of  *  Olivia.'     It  is  one  of  Fanny's  sweetest  efforts. 

"You  couldn't  help  loving  our  'Village  Rose 
bud.'  Not  because  she  was  beautiful,  though 
those  pouting  lips  and  deep  blue  eyes  were  fair  to 
see  ;  nor  because  her  form  had  caught  the  grace 
of  the  waving  willow  ;  nor  for  the  gletiming  bright 
ness  of  her  golden  hair.  But  because  her  sable 
dress  bespoke  your  tender  pity  for  the  orphan; 
and  for  the  thousand  little  nameless  acts  of  love 
and  kindness,  prompted  by  her  gentle  and  affec 
tionate  heart. 

"  The  first  sweet  violets  that  opened  their  blue 
eyes  to  greet  the  balmy  spring,  the  earliest  fruits 


FANNY    FERN.  191 

tf 

of  summer,  and  autumn's  golden  favors,  were  laid 
as  trophies  at  her  feet.  For  each  and  all,  she  had 
a  gentle,  kindly  word,  and  a  beaming  smile  ;  none 
felt  that  their  offerings  would  be  overlooked  or 
slighted,  because  they  were  unpretending. 

"  Helen  Gray's  means  and  home  were  humble, 
but  the  apartment  she  occupied  in  the  house  of  the 
kind  Widow  More  might  have  vied  for  taste  and 
comfort  with  many  more  expensively  furnished. 
The  tasteful  arrangement  of  a  few  choice  books 
and  pictures  ;  the  flower-stand,  with  its  wealth  of 
sweet  blossoms  ;  the  tiny  porcelain  vase,  that  daily 
chronicled  the  hopes  of  her  rustic  admirers  as  ex 
pressed  in  the  shape  of  rose-buds,  heart's-ease, 
mignonette,  and  the  like ;  the  snowy  curtain, 
looped  gracefully  away  from  the  window,  over 
which  the  wild-rose  and  honey-suckle  formed  a 
fairy  frame  for  the  sweet  face  that  so  often  bewil 
dered  the  passing  traveller — manj-  an  hour  did  she 
sit  there,  watching  the  fleecy  cloud ;  the  fragant 
meadow,  through  which  the  tiny  stream  wound 
like  a  thread  of  silver;  the  waving  trees,  with 
their  leafy  music;  the  church,  with  its  finger  of 
faith  pointing  to  Heaven ;  and  the  village  grave 
yard,  where  were  peacefully  pillowed  the  gray- 
haired  sire  and  loving  mother,  whom  she  still 


192  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

mourned ;  and  each  and  all  wound  their  own  spell 
around  the  heart  and  fancy  of  the  orphan  Helen. 

"  But  there  is  yet  another  spell  that  holds  her  in 
its  silken  fetters.  Ah,  little  Helen !  by  those 
morning  walks  and  star-lit  rambles,  by  that  rose 
fresh  with  dew,  glittering  amid  your  ringlets,  by 
those  dainty  little  notes,  that  bring  such  a  bright 
flush  to  your  cheek  and  add  such  lustre  to  your 
eyes  ;  you  are  a  plighted  maiden. 

"  Harry  Lee  knew  well  how  to  woo,  and  win 
'  the  village  rose-bud.'  Master  of  a  handsome  for 
tune,  he  had  early  exhausted  all  the  sources  of  en 
joyment  to  be  found  in  his  native  city.  For  the 
last  three  years  he  had  been  a  voluntary  exile  in 
foreign  lands;  he  had  daguerreotyped  upon  his 
memory  all  that  was  grand,  majestic  and  lovely, 
in  natural  beauty  ;  all  that  was  perfect  in  painting 
and  sculpture.  He  had  returned  home,  weary  in 
the  search  of  pleasure,  sick  of  artificial  manners 
and  etiquette,  longing  for  something  that  would 
interest  him. 

"  In  such  a  mood  he  met  Helen.  Her  naive  man 
ners,  her  innocent  and  childish  beauty,  captivated 
his  fancy.  He  was  rich  enough  to  be  able  to 
please  himself  in  the  choice  of  a  wife,  and  the 
orphan's  sweet  gentleness  gave  promise  of  a  ready 
compliance  with  every  selfish  desire.  As  to  Helen, 


FANNY    FERN.  193 

she  had  only  her  own  heart  to  ask.  All  the  vil 
lagers  thought  *  Mr.  Lee  was  such  a  handsome  man.' 
Mr.  Lee  thought  so  himself. 

"Fair  and  bright  shone  the  sun  on  Helen's 
bridal  morning!  JSTo  father,  nor  mother,  nor 
brother,  nor  sister,  were  there  to  give  the  young 
bride  away.  She  had  yielded  her  innocent  and 
guileles  heart  without  a  fear  for  the  future.  Her 
simple  toilette  required  little  care.  The  golden 
tresses,  the  graceful,  symmetrical  figure,  the  sweet 
face,  over  which  the  faint,  blush  flitted  with  every 
passing  emotion,  could  gain  nothing  by  artificial 
adornment. 

"  Helen  could  have  been  happy  with  her  husband 
in  a  far  less  costly,  less  luxurious  home ;  but  well 
did  she  grace  its  fair  halls.  Her  perfect  and  in 
tuitive  tact  served  her  in  place  of  experience  of 
the  gay  world.  Her  husband  was  amused  as  well 
as  gratified  at  her  ease  and  self-possession,  and 
marked  with  pride  the  world's  admiration  of  his 
choice. 

"It  is  needless  to  say  how  the  orphan's  heart 
went  out  to  him  who  was  all  to  her.  With  what 
fond  pride  she  looked  up  to  him  whom  she  believed 
to  be  all  that  was  noble,  good  and  true — how  deli 
cately  she  anticipated  every  wish,  and  dissipated 
by  her  sunny  brightness  every  cloud  of  care. 
9 


194  LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES    OF 

"  How  perfect  and  far-sighted  that  Wisdom  that 
shrouds  the  future  from  our  sight !  Who  among 
us,  with  rude  hand,  would  willingly  draw  back  the 
dark  curtain,  and  palsy  the  hearts  now  beating  high 
with  hope  and  promise  ? 

"  Time  passed  on,  and  Helen  had  another  claim 
ant  for  her  love.  Never  was  infant  so  caressed  by 
a  doating  mother  ;  never  one  whose  little  lamp  of 
life  needed  such  careful  watching  lest  it  should  be 
extinguished. 

"  Helen  looked  in  vain  to  read  in  her  husband's 
eves  the  love  she  felt  for  her  child.  Its  cries  were 
intolerable  to  him,  and  the  quiet  and  tedium  of  a 
sick-room  annoying  to  the  last  degree.  He  missed 
the  light  step  that  bounded  to  meet  him  on  his  re 
turn,  the  bright  face  that  smiled  upon  him  at  their 
quiet  meal,  the  touch  of  fairy  ringers  on  his  heated 
brow.  He  thought  not  of  a  mother's  pain  ;  he  felt 
no  gratitude  for  the  life  that  had  been  spared  him  ; 
he  had  no  admiration  for  the  patient  devotion  of 
the  young  mother.  He  took  not  into  account  the 
monotony  of  a  sick-room  to  a  nervous,  excitable 
temperament  like  Helen's ;  he  looked  not  beyond 
his  own  selfish  feelings. 

"  Helen  was  grieved,  yet  she  would  not  admit  to 
herself  that  Harry  had  changed.  She  made  an 
effort  to  appear  stronger  and  brighter  than  she 


FANNY    FERN.  195 

really  was,  and  in  the  unselfishness  of  her  love  she 
said,  '  It  must  be  /  who  have  changed  ;  I  will  yet 
win  him  back  to  me.'  But  her  babe  was  feeble, 
and  required  much  of  her  time,  and  Harry's  brow 
would  cloud  with  displeasure  when  the  eyes  of  his 
gentle  wife  would  fill  with  tears  ;  then  with  an  im 
patient  '  pshaw  ! '  he  would  leave  the  room,  '  won 
dering  what  nurses  were  made  for,  if  they  couldn't 
keep  babies  from  being  a  bore.' 

"Poor  Helen!  All  this  told  upon  her  feeble 
health  and  spirits ;  she  became  nervous  and  hys 
terical,  and  trembled  when  she  -heard  Harry's 
footsteps.  She  consulted  her  glass  to  see  if  sick 
ness  had  robbed  her  of  the  charms  that  had  won 
him.  Still  it  reflected  back  the  same  wealth  of 
golden  hair,  the  fair,  pure  brow,  the  sweet  blue 
eyes.  The  rose  had  faded  from  her  cheek,  'tis  true, 
but  that  would  bloom  again  with  exercise  and  fresh 
air  ;  and  so  she  redoubled  her  attentions,  patiently 
counting  the  tedious  hours  of  his  unwonted  ab 
sence,  nor  met  him  with  an  ungentle  word  or  look 
of  reproach  on  his  return. 

"  Helen  had  often  met,  at  the  house  of  a  friend 
of  Harry's,  a  young  widow  lady  by  the  name  of 
Melville.  One  day  her  husband  told  her  that  he 
wished  an  invitation  to  be  sent  to  her  to  make 


196  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

them  a  visit,  adding,  '  she  will  cheer  you  up  and 
help  you  appear  more  like  yourself  again.3 

"  The  next  week  found  Norah  Melville  their 
guest.  Married  at  the  age  of  nineteen  to  a  man 
the  age  of  her  father,  she  found  herself  a  year  after 
a  widow,  with  unimpaired  beauty,  and  a  fortune 
sufficiently  ample  to  cover  every  want  or  desire. 
She  had  a  thorough  knowledge  of  human  nature, 
and  was  a  perfect  woman  of  the  world.  Her 
figure  was  tall  and  queenly,  she  had  large  liquid 
black  eyes,  a  complexion  of  marble  paleness,  a 
profusion  of  raven  black  hair,  and  a  voice  like  the 
wind-harp  in  its  sweetness.  She  knew  that  eyes 
like  hers  were  made  for  use,  and  she  acted  upon  that 
principle. 

"  Nothing  could  exceed  her  kindness  to  Helen, 
who  only  saw  that  her  husband's  old  glad  smile 
had  come  back  again,  and  that  he  was  once  more 
gay  and  cheerful. 

"  Mrs.  Melville  sang  them  all  her  choicest  songs, 
always  appeared  in  an  unexceptionable  toilette, 
displayed  a  foot  equal  to  Cinderella's,,  and  was,  by 
turns,  pensive  or  gay,  thoughtful  or  witty,  brilliant 
or  sad  ;  but  in  all  bewitching  ! 

"  Helen  could  see  nothing  exceptionable  in  her 
manners  or  conversation,  and  agreed  with  the  rest 
of  her  admirers  that  she  was  a  '  splendid  woman.' 


FANNY    FERN.  197 

u  One  day,  as  they  sat  at  dinner,  a  proposal  was 
made  by  Harry  that  they  should  attend  the  theatre 
that  evening.  Helen  dared  not  leave  her  child 
until  so  late  an  hour,  but  begged  them  not  to  stay 
at  home  on  her  account.  When  the  hour  arrived 
she  herself  placed  the  spotless  camelia  in  Mrs. 
Melville's  raven  hair,  clasped  the  glittering  dia 
mond  bracelet  upon  her  fair,  round  arm,  and  went 
back,  in  the  guilelessness  of  her  trusting  heart,  to 
her  child's  cradle. 

"At  length,  weary  with  its  restlessness,  she 
threw  herself  upon  the  bed  and  sank  into  a  deep 
slumber.  She  dreamed  of  the  flower-wreathed 
cottage  where  her  childhood  was  passed,  and  in 
fancy  she  roamed  with  Harry  in  the  sweet  mea 
dows,  and  revisited  the  old  trysting- place  under  the 
trees  by  the  river  side,  and  heard  his  words  of 
passionate  love  as  in  those  golden  days.  She 
awoke  and  found  the  hour  was  late  for  Harry's 
return.  Descending  the  stairs,  she  bent  her  foot 
steps  toward  the  parlor. 

"  Transfixed,  spell-bound,  what  has  hushed  the 
tread  of  those  tiny,  slipperless  feet  upon  the  soft 
carpet  ? 

"  The  moonbeams  fell  brightly  through  the  large 
bay  window  upon  the  fair  N"orah.  Her  opera- 
cloak  had  fallen  carelessly  at  her  side,  displaying 


198  LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES    OF 

her  matchless  neck  and  snowy  arms.  Her  eyes, 
those  speaking,  bewildering  eyes,  were  bent  upon 
Harry,  who  sat  on  a  low  ottoman  at  her  feet.  His 
hair  was  pushed  carelessly  back  from  his  broad 
white  brow,  and  Helen  was  no  stranger  to  the 
look  with  which  he  gazed  upon  Mrs.  Melville. 
Musically  slow,  but  with  dreadful  distinctness,  fell 
upon  her  ear  the  words, 

"  £  Xorah,  I  love  you.' 

"In  that  short  sentence  was  compressed  for  the 
gentle  wife  the  agony  of  death.  None  but  those 
who  have  given  a  warm,  living  heart  into  un 
worthy  keeping,  may  know  such  torture. 

"  Helen  spoke  riot,  nor  gave  other  sign  of  her 
presence.  Slowly,  mechanically,  she  returned  to 
her  room,  and,  as  she  sank  into  a  chair,  the  words 
'  My  God,  pity  me ! '  were  wrung  from  her  soul's 
anguish. 

"  When  Harry  returned,  she  sat  cold  and  pale, 
swaying  her  figure  gently  to  and  fro,  slowly  re 
peating, 

"  '  Norah,  I  love  you  !     Korah,  I  love  you  ! ' 

"In  the  lunatic  asylum  of ,  may  now  be 

seen  '  the  Village  Eosebud.7  God  forgive  the  care 
less  hand  that  so  rudely  plucked  its  fresh  beauty, 
but  to  blight  its  fair  promise,  and  cast  it  aside  as  a 
withered  thing. 


FANNY    FERN.  199 

"  The  world  still  takes  by  the  hand,  as  an  honor 
able  man,  the  gay  Harry  Lee;  but,  in  the  still 
midnight  hour,  a  gentle,  tearful  voice,  slowly 
repeats  to  his  ear  alone,  amid  unquiet  slumbers, 
the  words, — '  Nbrah,  I  love  you  ! '  " 


XLIV. 

SINGLE     BLESSEDNESS. 

TITHAT  a  cheerful,  happy,  self-congratulating  old 
maid  was  lost  when  Fanny  became  a  wife. 
Only  read  this  extract : — 

"  l  All  articles  of  gentlemen's  wearing  apparel  made — TO 

ORDER.' 

"  Saints  and  angels  !  only  think  of  that !  Well, 
thank  a  kind  Providence  I  never  was  married. 
No  tyrannical  frock-coats,  or  'dress-coats,'  or 
Petershams,  profane  my  closets.  No  vests,  or 
stocks,  or  dickies  crowd  my  nice  laces,  and  ribbons, 
and  muslins.  No  overbearing  cane  keeps  com 
pany  with  my  silken  parasolette.  No  lumbering 
great  boots  tread  on  the  toes  of  my  little  slippers 
and  gaiters.  Nobody  kicks  my  spinster  foot  under 
the  table  to  stop  me  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence 
that  I'm  bent  upon  finishing.  Nothing  on  the 
wide  earth  that's  '  made  to  order]  finds  admittance 
into  my  single-blessed  territories.  I  should  be  all 
teeth  and  claws  if  there  did  !  " 


XLV. 

THAT    MRS.     JONES. 

don't  quite  agree  with  Fanny  in  thinking 
women  ought  to  bear  all  the  blame.  Eve  never 
would  have  thought  of  stealing  apples,  if  Adam, 
hadn't  been  in  a  hurry  for  his  supper.  But  in  this 
instance  Mrs.  Jones  was  wrong.  This  is  the  story, 
as  Fanny  tells  it : 

"'Heaven  be  praised  for  Sunday,'  said  Mrs. 
Jones  ;  '  when  omnibus  horses  and  women  can  rest 
from  their  labors.  Mr.  Jones  ?  Bless  rny  soul,  the 
man  has  gone ; '  and  she  raised  herself  on  her  elbow, 
and  pushed  back  the  ruffled  border  of  her  night 
cap,  as  if  to  make  quite  sure  of  her  single  blessed 
ness.  *  Tommy  ? '  said  she,  to  a  little  trundle-bed 
occupant ;  '  here,' Tommy,  you  always  know  every 
thing  you  ought  not  to  ;  where's  your  father  ? ' 


202  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES     OF 

'"Oh,  lie  went  off  an  hour  since, 'said  the  ur 
chin  ;  '  took  his  money- trunk  and  went  down 
street.' 

"  Mrs.  Jones  leaped  into  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
examined  the  contents  of  wardrobe  and  closets. 
Yes — his  clothes  were  all  there ;  she  couldn't  de 
cide  whether  she  was  a  *  California  widow '  or  not ; 
the  chances  were  about  even, 

'"Six  little  mouths  to  feed,' said  she;  'house- 
rent  to  pay,  and  myself  to  keep  out  of  mischief. 
Shouldn't  have  minded  his  going,  if  he  hadn't  kid 
napped  that  money-trunk ;  he  was  getting  dyspep 
tic  and  fussy,  rather  inclining  to  be  ancient  • '  and 
she  shook  out  her  curls  from  under  her  cap,  and 
attempted  to  finish  her  breakfast  toilette. 

'"  T-o-m-m-y  Jones,'  said  she;  'leave  off  shav 
ing  that  cat,  with  your  father's  razor.  Do  you 
know  what  day  it  is  ? ' 

"  '  Well,  you'd  better  ask  father,'  said  the  young 
hopeful  '  There  he  is,  coming  up  the  street  with  a 
money-trunk  in  his  hand,  of  a  Sunday  morning.' 

"  '  M-r.  Jo-n-e-s,'  said  his  spouse,  as  that  gentle 
man  came  in,  and  walking  so  close  up  to  him  that 
their  noses  touched — '  have  you  been  imbibing? 
What  did  you  get  up  so  early  for  ?  and  where  on 
earth  have  you  been  ?  and  which  way  did  you  go  ? 
and  what  have  you  been  about  ?  Make  haste,  and 


FANNY    FERN.  203 

tell  me !  Pretty  example  for  you  to  set  this  bap 
tized  Tommy — to  be  running  round,  Sunday  morn 
ing,  before  sunrise,  with  a  money-trunk  under  your 
arm.  What  do  you  suppose  our  minister  '11  think  ?  ' 
"l  Sunday  morning!'*  said  Jones,  rubbing  his 
forehead  —  '  Sunday  morning !  That  accounts ! 
Couldn't  think,  for  the  life  of  me,  why  there  wasn't 
a  window-shutter  taken  down  in  the  street.  Been 
down  to  the  store,  as  true  as  I'm  a  sinner ;  made 
the  fire ;  opened  the  shutters,  and  hung  out  all  the 
calicoes  and  ribbons  and  streamers  I  could  find. 
Sunday  Morning!  Well,  it's  all  your  fault,  Mrs. 
Jones  ;  how  was  /  to  know  ?  You  didn't  have  salt 
fish  for  dinner,  yesterday,  though  it  was  Saturday — 
that's  the  only  way  I  know  when  Sunday  comes. 
Shouldn't  make  innovations,  Mrs.  Jones;  it's  all 
your  fault.  There  never  was  a  commandment 
broke  yet,  that  a  woman  wasn't  at  the  bottom 
of  it.'" 


XLVI. 

MRS.  JUPITER'S   SOLILOQUY,    TAKEN 
DOWN   IN  SHORT-HAND. — BY  FANNY 

FERN. 

CITTINGr  is  the  only  posture  for  deliberation. 
Certainly.  Don't  *  the  House '  always  c  sit ' 
when  any  national  egg  is  hatching  ?  The  philo 
sophy  and  naturalness  of  the  maxim  is  unmistake- 
ably  obvious.  It  accounts,  too,  for  something  I've 
never  been  able  to  comprehend,  viz.,  how  in  the 
name  of  all  that's  astounding  I  became  Mrs.  Jonas 
Jupiter.  I  was  not  sitting  when  Jonas  laid  his 
moustache  at  my  feet.  If  the  Legislature  would 
give  me  a  chance  to  reconsider  the  subject,  gun 
powder  shouldn't  take  me  off  my  chair  till  I  did 
it  ample  justice.  Jonas  probably  knew  what  he 
was  about,  when  he  imposed  on  my  simplicity 
that  way.  Nicodemus!  to  think  I  should  have 


FANNY    FERN.  205 

made  such  a  life-time  mistake,  all  for  want  of  a 
chair !  My  veneration  for  furniture  will  be  on  the 
progressive  for  the  future.  I  incline  to  the  opin 
ion  that  men  are  exceedingly  artful.  It's  surpris 
ing  how  like  Moses  they  can  talk,  and  how  like 
Judas  they  can  act.  If  it  wasn't  that  I'm  bound 
to  collect  their  mental  skeletons  to  hang  up  in  my 
dissecting-room,  I  should  eschew  the  whole  sex. 
But  'tis  a  pretty  little  amusement  to  the  female 
naturalist  to  label  the  different  specimens.  As  far 
as  my  scientific  research  extends,  they  have  one 
defect  in  common,  viz.,  that  where  the  heart  should 
be,  there  is  a  decided  vacuum.  It  is  a  trifling  over 
sight  of  Dame  Nature's  which  her  elbow  should  be 
jogged  to  rectify  in  her  future  productions.  This 
little  amendment  in  the  masculine  organization 
would  be  excruciatingly  refreshing  to  the  female 
lover  of  variety.  E"o  amount  of  brains,  in  my 
opinion,  is  an  equivalent  for  this  omission,  but 
when  heart  and  brains  are  both  lacking! — saints 
and  angels,  what  an  abortion  !  " 


XLVII. 

THE     UNFAITHFUL     LOVER. 

quote,  by  permission,  from  the  files  of  the 
True   Flag,  a  second  sketch,  contributed  to 
its  columns,  by  Olivia,  alias  Fanny  Fern. 

"  Kate  Stanley  was  a  brilliant,  sparkling  bru 
nette.  Wo  to  the  rash  youth  who  exposed  his 
heart  to  her  fascinations  !  If  he  were  not  annihi 
lated  by  the  witching  glance  of  her  bright  eye,  he 
would  be  sure  to  be  caught  by  the  dancing  dimple 
that  played  'hide-and-seek'  so  roguishly  in  her 
rosy  cheek,  or  the  little  rounded  waist  that  sup 
ported  her  faultless  bust,  or  the  tiny  feet  that  crept, 
mice-like,  in  and  out  from  under  the  sweeping  folds 
of  her  silken  robe. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,  Miss  Kitty  was  an  arrant 
coquette.  She  angled  for  hearts  with  the  skill  of  a 


FAtfNY    FERtf.  207 

practised  sportsman,  and  was  never  satisfied  till 
she  saw  them  quivering  and  bleeding  at  her  feet ; 
then,  they  might  flounce  and  flutter,  and  twist  and 
writhe  at  their  leisure,  it  was  no  farther  concern 
others.  She  was  off  for  a  new  subject. 

"  One  fine  morning  she  sat  listlessly  in  her  bou 
doir,  tapping  one  little  foot  upon  the  floor,  and 
sighing  for  a  new  sensation,  when  a  note  was 
handed  her.  It  ran  thus  : 

'"DEAR  KITTY: — Our  little  cottage  home  is 
looking  lovely,  this  '  leafy  June.'  Are  you  not 
weary  of  city  life?  Come  and  spend  a  month 
with  us,  and  refresh  heart  and  body.  You  will 
find  nothing  artificial  here,  save  yourself! 

'  Yours,  NELLY.' 

"  '  Just  the  thing/  said  Kitty,  '  but  the  girl  must 
be  crazy,  or  intolerably  vain,  to  bring  me  into  such 
close  contact  with  her  handsome  lover — I  might  as 
well  try  to  stop  breathing  as  to  stop  flirting,  and  the 
covjitry  of  all  places,  for  a  flirtation!  The  girl 
must  be  non-compos  /.however,  it's  her  own  affair, 
not  mine ; '  and  she  glanced  triumphantly  at  her 
beautiful  face,  and  threaded  her  jewelled  fingers 
through  her  long  ringlets,  and  conquered  him — in 
imagination  ! 

"  '  When  do  you  expect  your  friend  ? '  said  a 


208  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

laughing  young  girl  to  Nelly.  '  From  the  descrip 
tions  I  have  had  of  her,  your  bringing  her  here, 
will  be  something  akin  to  the  introduction  of  Satan 
into  Paradise.  You  wouldn't  find  me  guilty  of 
such  a  folly,  were  I  engaged  to  your  handsome 
Fitz.  Now  you  know,  Nelly  dear,  that  although 
you  are  fascinating  and  intellectual,  you  have  no 
pretensions  to  beauty,  and  there  are  few  men  who 
prize  a  gem  unless  it  is  handsomely  set,  however 
great  its  value.  Now  be  warned  in  time,  and  send 
him  off  on  a  pilgrimage  till  her  visit  is  over.  / 
won't  bet  on  his  constancy  ! ' 

"  '  On  the  contrary,'  said  Nelly,  as  she  rose 
slowly  from  the  little  couch  where  she  was  reclin 
ing,  and  her  small  figure  grew  erect  and  her  large 
eyes  lustrous,  *  I  would  marry  no  man  who  could 
not  pass  through  such  an  ordeal  and  remain  true 
to  me.  I  am,  as  you  see,  hopelessly  plain  and  un 
graceful  ;  yet,  from  my  earliest  childhood,  I  have 
been  a  passionate  worshipper  of  beauty.  I  never 
expected  to  win  love — I  never  expected  to  marry 
— and  when  Fitz,  with  all  his  glorious  beauty, 
sued  for  my  hand,  I  could  not  convince  myself 
that  it  was  not  all  a  bewildering  dream.  It  was 
such  a  temptation  to  a  heart  so  isolated  as  mine ; 
and  eloquently  it  plead  for  itself.  When  I  drank 
in  the  music  of  his  voice,  I  said,  *  surely  I  must  be 


FANNY    FEEN.  209 

lovely  in  his  eyes  ;  else  why  has  he  sought  me  ? ' 
Then,  in  my  solitary  moments,  I  said,  sadly,  '  there 
are  none  to  dispute  the  prize  with  me  here.  He 
is  deceiving  himself;  he  is  only  in  love  with 
nature  and  the  beautiful  about  us.  He  has  mis 
taken  his  own  heart.'  Then  again,  I  would  ask 
myself,  '  oan  nothing  but  beauty  win  a  noble  heart? 
are  all  my  intellectual  gifts  valueless  ?  '  And  still, 
Fitz  unable  to  understand  my  contradictory  moods, 
passionately  urged  his  suit.  It  needed  not  that 
waste  of  eloquence  ;  my  heart  was  already  captive. 
And  now,  by  the  intensity  of  that  happiness  of 
which  I  know  myself  to  be  capable,  I  will  prove 
him.  Kate's  beauty — Kate's  witchery,  shall  be 
the  test !  If  his  heart  remains  loyal  to  me,  I  am 
his.  If  not — '  and  her  cheek  grew  pale,  and  large 
tears  gathered  slowly  in  her  eyes — '  I  have  saved 
myself  a  deeper  misery.' 

"Fitz  Allan  'had  travelled,'  and  that  is  gener 
ally  understood  to  mean  to  go  abroad  and  remain 
a  period  of  time  long  enough  to  grow  a  fierce 
beard  and  fiercer  moustache,  and  cultivate  a 
thorough  contempt  for  everything  in  your  own 
country.  This  was  not  true  of  Fitz  Allan.  It 
had  only  bound  him  the  more  closely  to  home  and 
friends.  His  splendid  person  and  cultivated  man 
ners  had  been  a  letter  of  recommendation  to  him 


210  LIFE     AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

in  cultivated  society.  He  was  no  fop,  and  yet  he 
was  fully  aware  of  these  personal  advantages. 
(What  handsome  man  is  not  ?)  He  had  trophies 
of  all  kinds,  to  attest  his  skillful  generalship  ;  such 
as  dainty  satin  slippers,  tiny  kid  gloves,  faded 
roses,  ringlets  of  all  colors,  ebony,  flaxen  and 
auburn,  and  bijouterie  without  limit. 

Happy  Fitz !  What  spell  bound  thee  to  the 
plain,  but  loveable  Nelly  ?  A  nature  essentially 
feminine ;  a  refined,  cultivated  taste ;  a  warm, 
passionate  heart.  Didst  thou  remember  when 
thou  listenedest  to  that  most  musical  of  musical 
voices,  and  sat  hour  after  hour,  magnetised  by  its 
rare  witchery  as  it  glanced  gracefully  and  skillfully 
from  one  topic  to  another,  that  its  possessor  had 
not  the  grace  and  beauty  of  a  Hebe  or  a  Venus  ? 

"It  was  a  bright,  moonlight  evening.  Fitz  and 
Nelly  were  seated  in  the  little  rustic  parlor  open 
ing  upon  the  piazza.  The  moon  shone  full  upon 
Kate,  as  she  stood  in  the  low  door-way.  Her  sim 
ple  white  dress  was  confined  at  the  waist  by  a 
plain,  silken  cord.  Her  fair,  white  shoulders  rose 
gracefully  from  the  snowy  robe.  Her  white  arms, 
as  they  were  crossed  upon  her  breast,  or  raised 
above  her  head  to  catch  playfully  the  long  tendrils 
of  the  woodbine,  as  the  wind  swept  them  past  her 
forehead,  gleamed  fair  in  the  moonlight,  and  each 


PA.NNY    FERN.  211 

and  all  had  their  bewildering  charm.  She  seated 
herself  upon  the  low  door-step.  Song  after  song 
was  borne  upon  the  air.  Her  eyes  now  flashing 
with  the  enthusiasm  of  an  Improvisatrice — then 
soft,  and  lustrous,  and  liquid,  and — dangerous ! 
Nelly's  heart  beat  quick — a  deep  crimson  spot 
glowed  upon  her  cheek,  and,  for  once,  she  was 
beautiful. 

"  Kate,  apparently,  took  but  little  notice  of  the 
lovers,  but  not  an  expression  that  flitted  across 
the  fine  face  of  Fitz  Allan  passed  unnoticed  by 
her.  And  she  said  proudly  to  herself — { /  have 
conquered  him  ! ' 

"And  so  the  bright  summer  months  passed  by, 
and  they  rambled  through  the  cool  woods  and  rode 
through  the  winding  paths  and  sang  to  the  quiet 
stars  in  the  dim,  dewy  night. 

#*#**#« 

'"Fie!  Mr.  Fitz  Allan!  What  would  Nelly 
say,  to  see  you  kneeling  here  at  my  feet?  You 
forget  you  are  an  affianced  lover,'  said  the  gay 
beauty,  as  she  mockingly  curled  her  rosy  lip ; 
'  when  you  address  such  flattering  language  to 
me  ! ' 

"  '  I  only  know  that  you  are  beautiful  as  a  dream,' 
said  the  bewildered  Fitz,  as  he  passionately  kissed 
the  jewelled  hand  that  lay  unresistingly  in  his  own. 


212          LIFE     AND    BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

"  That  night  Fitz  might  be  seen  pacing  his  room 
with  rapid  strides,  crushing  in  his  hands  a  delicate 
note,  in  which  was  written  these  words : 

'•' £  The  moon  looks  on  many  brooks; 
3ut  one  moon 

'Farewell! 


NELLY.'  " 


XLVIII. 

PETTICOAT    PARLIAMENT. 

"  '  We  must  do  our  aspiring  sisters  the  justice  to  say  that 
several  of  them  made  very  good  speeches,  and  manifested  a 
real  talent  for  debate  quite  equal  to  that  displayed  by  half  the 
he-fellows  we  send  to  Congress.  *  *  *  We  opine  no 
thing  serious  will  come  of  these  Women's  Rights'  Conventions. 
If  it  amuses  the  darlings,  to  insist  upon  doing  their  own 
voting  and  fighting,  let  'em  talk  on.  If  they  go  too  far  we 
can  adopt  measures  and  compel  them  to  do  their  own  kissing  ! 
They  must  have  recreation  of  some  kind,  and  this  is  a  good 
substitute  for  fancy  balls,  expensive  millinery,  &c.  Strong- 
minded  women  have  a  soul  above  buttons.  Let  the  blessed 
angels  weep  and  resolve  if  it  relieves  their  minds.'  " — New 
York  Sunday  Times. 

"YTOW  I'll  wager  a  pair  of  new  kid  gloves  that 
the  writer  of  the  above  article  is  a  whole-souled, 
loveable,  handsome  son  of  Adam.  If  all  the  men 
were  like  him  the  women  would  lay  down  their 
arms  and  take  his! — there'd  be  no  more  drumming 
up  recruits  for  petticoat  parliaments — they'd  '  re 
solve  '  to  stay  at  home  and  *  do  as  they  oughter.' 


214          LIFE    AND 

I  think  there  should  be  a  raffle  for  him !  (You 
don't  find  such  a  man  every  day!)  He  takes  a 
liberal  view  of  things — you  don't  catch  him  but 
toning  his  coat  up  to  his  chin,  folding  his  arms, 
strutting  round  and  looking  daggers  at  us,  like  the 
rest  of  the  men.  No,  he  isn't  on  the  £  anxious 
seat ' — HE  isn't !  He  just  takes  off  his  hat  to  us, 
like  a  gentleman,  and  says,  with  an  irresistible 
smile : — '  Dear  ladies — there's  a  soft  place  in  your 
hearts  somewhere^  after  all.  Who's  afraid!  Your 
gunpowder  plots  will  all  end  in  smoke !  Three 
cheers  for  the  ladies ! '  Now  THAT'S  doing  the 
thing  handsomely. 

u  Nobody  but  a  very  '  wiry  sister '  could  hold  out 
against  such  an  incarnation  of  good-humored  gal 
lantry.  It's  only  the  bad  husbands  who  see  their 
own  ugly  mental  phizes  in  the  looking-glass  these 
1  female  philanthro-pesses '  hold  up  to  them,  that 
raise  such  a  breeze  about  it.  '  It's  only  the  truth 
that  wounds,'  as  the  French  proverb  says. 

"  If  /  ha,d  been  of  that  convention,  I  should  just 
draw  off  my  glove,  shake  hands  with  that  '  Sunday 
Times  '  writer,  and  sign  an  everlasting  and  repentant 
recantation  of  all  incendiary  resolutions, — now, 
henceforth  and  forever !  Pass  him  round ;  send 
us  a  lock  of  his  hair ! — give  us  his  daguerreo 
type!" 


XLIX. 

FANNY    FERN     ON     WIDOWERS. 

•'•'  :  Is  this  the  heart  that  beat  so  tenderly  for  Sarah;  yca3  and 
for  Anna  afterwards,  and  then  for  Maria,  and  in  the  course 
of  time  for  Margaret  Jane  ! '  " — True  Flag. 

A  S  Cupid  is  your  witness,  the  very  same  !  Why 
^  not?  No  computing  the  times  a  masculine 
heart  can  be  damaged,  repaired,  cracked,  broken, 
mended,  and  be  just  as  good  as  new  !  How  often 
it  can  be  tossed,  like  a  shuttlecock,  from  one  fair 
hand  to  another,  and  lose  none  of  its  freshness  or 
intrinsic  value.  How  fervently  it  can  adore  every 
daughter  of  Eve  the  sun  shines  upon  !  How 
instantaneous  may  be  the  transition  from  the  dirge 
note  of  sorrow  to  'Love's  Quickstep  ! '  How  un 
necessary  it  is,  to  be  off  with  the  old  love,  before 
it  is  on  with  the  new. 

"  Oh  !  it  is  an  exhaustless  fountain,  that  heart ! 


216  LIFE 

No  bounds  to  its  capacities !  A  widower,  wnose 
wives  had  been  '  legion,'  was  once  heard  to  say : — - 
1  The  more  I  loved  my  Elenore,  the  more  I  loved 
my  Mary  ;  the  more  I  loved  rny  Mary,  the  more  I 
loved  my  Anna ; '  &c.  Imagination  fails  me  to 
picture,  at  this  rate  of  progression,  the  '  unwritten ' 
felicity  of  the  LAST  feminine,  on  the  marital  list ! 
Yenus  !  the  very  thought  paralyzes  my  pen  1  " 


L. 

AN    HOUR    WITH     FANNY'S     FATHER. 

OINCE  the  previous  pages  were  prepared,  we 
have  been  favored  -  with  an  interesting  history 
of  a  recent  interview  with  Fanny  Fern's  father,  by 
a  gentleman  of  Boston,  upon  whose  statements 
implicit  reliance  may  be  placed. 

As  any  facts  relating  to  the  venerable  parent  of 
so  distinguished  a  woman  as  Fanny,  must  be  of 
interest  to  the  public,  we  have  concluded  to  devote 
a  chapter  to  a  condensed  account  of  the  interview 
in  question. 

Deacon  Willis  was  found  at  his  office  in  School- 
street,  at  an  early  hour  on  a  winter  morning, 
engaged  in  looking  over  some  business  matters 
with  his  book-keeper.  The  veteran  publisher  is 
described  as  a  person  rather  below  the  medium 
stature;  gray-haired  and  feeble;  slightly  bent  with 
10 


218  LIFE     AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

age  and  care ;  dressed  in  a  sober  suit  of  black, 
with  white  cravat,  and  spectacles. 

The  conversation  turning  upon  "  Kuth  Hall," 
the  old  gentleman  shook  his  head  sadly.  Had  he 
read  the  book  ?  Oh,  no !  he  had  not  the  heart  to 
do  that.  He  had  understood  that  he  was  abused 
in  it ;  but  at  his  time  of  life,  with  the  gates  of 
eternity  drawing  so  near,  and  the  world  receding 
so  fast  behind  him,  he  felt  no  desire  to  know  what 
an  ungrateful  child  would  say  of  him.  As  far  as 
he  could  learn,  the  book  had  been  read  by  none  of 
his  family :  they  passed  it  by,  as  children  shun  a 
reptile  in  their  path.  But  he  had  seen  notices  of 
it  in  the  newspapers,  from  which  he  had  learned 
something  concerning  Fanny's  treatment  of  her 
relatives.  It  was  needless  for  him  to  say  how  un 
just  that  treatment  was.  He  had  no  defence  to 
make.  And  as  for  retaliation — he  was  still  her 
father ;  she  was  his  child ;  he  grieved  not  on 
his  own  account,  but  for  her  sake — not  because 
evil  was  said  of  him  in  his  old  age,  but  because  it 
was  in  her  heart  to  say  it :  what  retaliation  then 
could  he  seek  ? 

This  last  was  not  the  first,  nor  by  any  means 
the  greatest  trial  Fanny  had  caused  her  parents. 
From  her  girlhood,  she  had  been  a  wild  and 
troublesome  child.  A  total  disregard  for  the  feel- 


FANNY    FERN.  219 

ings  of  others,  was  a  distinguishing  characteristic 
of  her  disposition.  Selfish  and  wilful,  all  attempts 
to  control  her,  excited  only  passion  and  spite.  No 
pains  had  been  spared  to  soften  and  tame  her. 
The  most  celebrated  teachers  were  employed.  Not 
only  did  Miss  Catherine  E.  Beecher  try  her  skill 
upon  her,  but  schools  at  Pittsfield,  Mass.,  at  Lon 
donderry,  N.  EL,  and  at  several  other  places,  were 
patronized,  one  after  the  other,  with  quite  indif 
ferent  success.  At  the  termination  of  each  fruit 
less  effort  to  mould  her  character,  Miss  Fanny  was 
returned,  wild  and  wilful  as  ever,  upon  her 
parents'  hands. 

In  the  course  of  conversation,  Fanny's  com 
plaints  of  neglect  and  cruelty  on  the  part  of  her 
friends,  were  alluded  to.  Again  the  old  man  shook 
his  head  sorrowfully.  These  complaints,  he  said, 
were  utterly  without  foundation ;  and  to  this  state 
ment  he  added  a  fact,  which  Fanny  and  her 
advisers  will  find  it  difficult  to  put  out  of  sight. 
During  the  brief  widowhood  of  the  self-styled 
"  Kuth  Hall,"  her  own  father  alone,  paid  out  money 
to  the  amount  of  eight  hundred  dollars,  for  her 
support.  For  this,  Mr.  Willis  can  show  receipts. 
Add  an  equal  sum  contributed  by  her  husband's 
father,  and  we  have  not  less  than  sixteen  hundred 


220  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

dollars — certainly  a  snug  little  pension  for  Ruth, 
and  her  children  to  starve  upon. 

In  this  connection,  the  old  gentleman  had  occa 
sion  to  remark,  that,  had  he  been  less  liberal  in 
the  education  and  support  of  his  children,  he  might 
not  now  be  compelled  to  go  early  in  the  morning 
to  his  office,  and  remain  late  in  the  afternoon  in  all 
sorts  of  weather,  exerting  his  feeble  strength  to 
obtain  a  livelihood,  at  an  age  when  quiet  and  rest 
from  toil  are  most  to  be  desired. 

Instead  of  becoming  less  troublesome  to  her 
friends  as  she  grew  older,  Fanny  seemed  to 
acquire  with  years  additional  power  to  harass  and 
distress  them.  At  last  came  her  separation  from 
Mr.  Farrington,  accompanied  with  inexpressible 
mortification  and  pain  to  her  family. 

"  Notwithstanding  her  rash  and  undutiful  con 
duct  they  once  more  came  to  her  relief,  and  she 
was  permitted  to  draw  the  same  pension  as  when 
a  widow.  She  now  commenced  writing  for  the 
papers,  and  under  the  stimulus  of  her  first  success 
as  an  authoress,  assumed  an  air  of  insufferable 
insolence  toward  the  old  man,  who,  all  her  life, 
had  borne  so  patiently  with  her  temper.  More 
than,  once  she  had  angrily  charged  him  with  false 
hood  to  his  face.  Her  letters  to  him  were  foolishly 


FANNY    FERN.  221 

impertinent.  It  was  with,  reluctance  and  grief 
that  Deacon  Willis  spoke  of  these  things ;  but 
they  seemed  wrung  from  him  by  a  powerful  sense 
of  the  wrongs  which  had  been  heaped  upon  his 
head. 

When,  at  length,  it  was  well  known  that  Mrs. 
Farrington  was  in  the  receipt  of  liberal  pay  from 
the  newspapers  for  which  she  wrote,  her  father 
warned  her,  that,  if  she  sent  him  any  more  such 
unwomanly  and  unfilial  notes  as  generally  accom 
panied  her  applications  for  money,  her  pension 
would  be  stopped.  She  defied  him,  and  the  threat 
was  carried  into  execution.  And  now  Fanny  has 
sought  her  revenge. 

The  old  man  spoke  affectionately  of  his  son,  Mr. 
IT.  P.  Willis,  whose  touching  tribute  to  his  father 
has  been  recently  published.  Throughout  the  in 
terview  he  had  shown  a  subdued  and  Christian 
temper,  uttering  unpleasant  truths  "  more  in  sor 
row  than  in  anger."  It  was  affecting  to  listen  to 
him ;  and  our  informant  states,  that  on  coming 
away,  the  reflection  that  this  was  the  man  whom 
the  "Old  Ellet"  in  Fanny's  book  was  intended 
to  caricature — a  fact  he  had  quite  lost  sight  of— 
excited  a  revulsion  of  feeling,  which  he  devoutly 
wished  might  be  experienced  by  a  few  of  the 
adorers  of  poor,  abused  "Kuth  Hall." 


LI 

JOHN   BULL'S    OPINION   OF  RUTH  HALL. 

WE  clip  the  following  critique  on  "  Kuth  Hall  " 
from  the  columns  of  the  Albion,  an  able  organ 
of  English  sentiment. 

"  There  are  some  books  of  which  it  is  difficult 
to  speak  as  one  could  wish,  for  a  variety  of  reasons. 
Euth  Hall  is  such  a  one.  "We  have  watched  the 
career  of  Fanny  Fern  from  the  first,  and  have  seen 
but  little  in  it  to  commend.  Suddenly  elevated  to  a 
pinnacle  of  popularity,  she  has  demeaned  herself  as 
no  right-minded  woman  should  have  done,  and  no 
sensitive-minded  woman  could  have  done — throw 
ing  out  insinuations,  that  she  was  a  very  ill-used 
woman ;  that  her  family  neglected^  her ;  and  finally, 
that  she  'had  no  family.'  Her  'Fern  Leaves,'  of 
which  two  series  are  before  the  public,  are  more 


FANNY    FERN.  223 

or  less  an  expansion  of  these  or  of  congenial  ideas 
— neglected  wives  and  sisters,  hard-hearted  fathers 
and  uncles,  fatherless  and  suffering  children,  and 
young  but  talented  authoresses  seeking  a  liveli 
hood  by  the  pen,  forming  the  bulk  of  the  work. 
1  Kuth  Hall '  harps  on  the  same  strings  ;  showing 
how  Euth  Hall  got  married ;  how  Mr.  Hall  died ; 
how  Mr.  Hall's  (  aged  parents/  and  the  blood  rela 
tives  of  Kuth  Hall,  nee  Ellet,  chaffered  about  help 
ing  her  in  her  time  of  need,  and  how  they  didn't ; 
how  she  took  to  authorship,  and  wrote  in  the 
newspapers  under  the  signature  '  Floy  ; '  how  she 
became  famous,  and  humbled  her  brother  Hya 
cinth,  who  had  the  good  sense  to  discourage  her 
from  the  first;  and  how  she  has  a  friend  in  the 
person  of  a  Mr.  Walter.  This,  and  more  of  the 
same  sort,  is  the  plot  of  *  Euth  Hall.'  The  book 
is  ostensibly  published  as  a  novel ;  but  is  intended 
— if  general  report  may  be  believed — as  an  auto 
biography  of  Fanny  Fern  herself.  If  designed  for 
a  novel,  it  is  clumsy  in  construction,  and  full  of 
false  sentiment  and  questionable  morality.  If 
meant  for  an  autobiography,  it  is  a  piece  of  malice 
and  impertinence.  Admitting — what  we  do  not 
for  a  moment  believe — the  truth  of  the  narrative, 
we  see  no  reason  why  it  should  be  published,  but 
many  excellent  ones  why  it  should  not.  An  old 


224          LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

proverb  says,  '  there  is  a  skeleton  in  every  family.7 
It  does  not  become  this  egotistical  and  querulous 
dame,  if  she  have  one  in  hers,  to  parade  it  before 
the  world.  It  would  be  wiser  to  shut  the  door 
on  it.  Such  a  book  as  this  will  win  its  writer 
some  praise — for  there  is  talent  in  it — and  give 
her  even  more  notoriety  than  she  appears  to  pos 
sess.  We  cannot,  however,  say  that  on  the  whole 
it  is  creditable  to  the  female  head  or  the  female 
heart." 


LII. 

ORTHODOX    TESTIMONY. 

THE   Congregational  Journal,    Concord,   N".  H., 
"  concludes   a  somewhat  severe  review,  in   the 
folowing  emphatic  manner : — 

"The  chapter  wanting  in  the  life  of  (Kuth 
Hall,'  perhaps  could  be  furnished  by  Mr.  Samuel 
P.  Farrington,  of  Chicago,  111.,  if  he  was  her  second 
husband  till  he  obtained  a  divorce  from  her  ;  and 
that  such  is  the  fact,  who  will  deny  ?  Who  that 
knows  will  take  the  responsibility  of  denying  that 
*  Euth  Hall '  alias  '  Fanny  Fern,'  is  the  daughter 
of  Deacon  Nathaniel  "Willis,  of  Boston,  and  that 
N.  P.  Willis  is  her  brother  ?  And  who  will  deny 
that  her  first  husband  was  a  Mr.  Eldredge,  whose 
father  was  a  physician,  and  is  now  dead  ?  Is  not 
the  <  old  Doctor  ;  the  father  of  c  Harry*? '  Is  not 
10* 


226  LIFE 

1  Mr.  Ellet '  the  father  of  '  Ruth,'  and  is  not  l  Hya 
cinth  '  her  brother  ?  are  questions  which  she  will 
not  answer  in  the  negative.  We  shall  not  our 
selves  attempt  any  description  of  this  book,  but 
having  knowledge  of  some  facts  in  the  history  of 
its  author,  and  believing  that  the  outlines  above 
quoted  are  just,  we  have  encumbered  our  columns 
with  the  matter.  If  by  so  doing,  we  shall  be  the 
means  of  increasing  the  readers  of  'Ruth  Hall,' 
the  responsibility  of  reading  such  an  abominable 
production  will  rest  on  themselves  and  not  us." 


LIU. 

ANOTHER    FEKN. 

T'VE  been  reading  the  Bible,  to-day,  and  it  strikes 
me  that  our  foremothers  were  not  very  correct 
old  ladies.  Who  flirted  with  the  old  serpent? 
How  came  Sampson's  hair  cut  off  and  his  peepers 
extinguished?  "Who  perforated  Jael's  head  with 
tenpenny  nails?  How  came  Jonah  sent  on  a 
whale-ing  voyage?  Who  helped  Ananias  tell 
fibs?  Who  put  Job  up  to  swearing?  Who 
raised  a  perfect  hurricane  in  good  old  Abram's 
house !  Who  danced  John  the  Baptist's  head  off 
his  shoulders,  hey  ?  I'd  like-  to  have  you  notice 
(that's  all,)  what  a  stock  we  all  sprung  from. 

"If  they  weren't  tee-totally  depraved,  may  I 
never  find  out  which  of  'em  I  descended  from! 
They  didn't  seem  to  have  the  least  consideration 
for  future  generations  l  long  since  unborn.'  Now 


228          LIFE    AND     BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

I  don't  calculate,  myself,  to  feel  responsible  for 
their  capers.  I've  read  somewhere,  in  Byron,  I 
believe,  that  every  washtub  must  stand  on  its  own 
pedestal !  (or  something  like  that.)  I  don't  be 
lieve  in  saddling  my  shoulders  with  their  old- 
fashioned  transgressions. 

"  Curious,  though,  isn't  it  ?  the  mischief  women 
make  in  the  world  ?  Great  pity  Noah  hadn't  set 
Mrs.  Noah  adrift  when  he  '  took  one  of  each  kind 
in  the  ark."  I  should  rather  have  stood  my 
chance  for  a  ducking,  than  to  have  been  shut  up 
with  such  a  '  promiskus '  men-agerie.  Noah  was 
a  worthy  old  gentleman.  No  mention  made  of 
his  getting  tipsy  but  once,  I  believe." 


Nota  Bene. — We  cannot  help  being  a  little  amused  at  Fanny's  comical 
want  of  Scriptural  information.  Our  Bible  represents  Jael  as  a  woman,  not 
by  any  means  "  perforated  with,  tenpenny  nails,"  though  she  did  try  the  "per 
forating"  experiment  with  excellent  success,  on  the  head  of  Sisera  "  the 
captain  of  Jabin's  army."  Oh,  wondrous  Fanny,  those  early  Sabbath-school 
lessons  must  have  been  long  ago  forgotten  ! 


LIV. 

THE  BEST  OF  MEN  HAVE  THEIR 


doesn't  think  so.     She    expresses    her 
opinion  as  follows  :  — 


(f  I  wish  I  could  ever  take  up  a  paper  that 
endorsed  my  liberal  sentiments.  I've  always 
warped  to  the  opinion  that  good  men  were  as  safe 
as  homoeopathic  pills.  You  don't  suppose  they 
ever  patronize  false  words  or  false  weights,  false 
measures  or  false  yardsticks  ?  You  don't  suppose 
they  ever  slander  their  neighbors  after  making  a 
long-winded  exhortation  in  a  vestry  meeting  ? 
You  don't  suppose  they  ever  lift  their  beavers  to  a 
long  purse,  and  turn  their  backs  on  a  thread-bare 
coat?  You  don't  suppose  they  ever  bestow  a 


230          LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

charity  to  have  it  trumpeted  in  the  newspapers  ? 
You  don't  suppose  when  they  trot  devoutly  to 
meeting  twice  a  day  on  Sunday,  that  they  over 
haul  their  ledgers  in  the  intermission  ?  You  don't 
suppose  they  ever  put  doubtful-looking  bank  bills 
in  the  contribution  box  ?  You  don't  suppose  they 
ever  pay  their  minister's  salary  in  consumptive 
hens  and  damaged  turkies  ?  I  wish  people  were 
not  so  uncharitable  and  suspicious.  It  disgusts  me 
v/ith  human  nature. 

"  Now  if  I  once  hear  a  man  make  a  prayer,  that's 
enough  said.  After  that,  Gabriel  couldn't  make 
me  believe  he  was  a  sinner.  If  his  face  is  of  an 
orthodox  length,  and  his  creed  is  dyed  in  the  wool, 
I  consider  him  a  prepared  subject  for  the  under 
taker.  If  his  toes  are  on  an  evangelical  platform, 
I  am  morally  certain  his  eyes  never  will  go  on  a 
4  Tom  Fool's  errand.'  If  he  has  a  proper  reverence 
for  a  church-steeple,  I  stake  my  life  on  it,  his 
conduct  will  be  perpendicular.  I  should  be  per 
fectly  willing  to  pin  my  faith  on  his  sleeve  till  the 
final  consummation  of  all  things.  Yes,  I've  the 
most  unswerving,  indestructible,  undying  confi 
dence  in  any  man  who  owns  a  copy  of  Watts' 
Psalms  and  Hymns.  Such  a  man  never  trips,  or 
if  he  does,  you  never  catch  him  at  it  1" 


I 


LV. 

THE    MISTAKE     OF     A    LIFE-TIME. 

a  very  different  spirit  the  following  sketch 
was  written : — 


"  A  lover's  quarrel !  A  few  hasty  words,  a 
formal  parting  between  two  hearts,  that  neither 
time  nor  distance  could  ever  disunite ;  then — a 
lifetime  of  misery ! 

"  Edith  May  stood  before  me  in  her  bridal 
dress.  The  world  was  to  be  made  to  believe  she 
was  happy  and  heart-whole.  I  knew  better.  I 
knew  that  no  woman  who  had  once  loved  Gilbert 
Ainslie  could  ever  forget  him ;  least  of  all  such  a 
heart  as  Edith's.  She  was  pale  as  a  snow-wreath ; 
and  bent  her  head  as  gracefully  as  a  water  lily,  in 
recognition  of  her  numerous  friends  and  admirers. 

"  '  What  a  sacrifice,'  the  latter  muttered,  between 


232  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

their  set  teeth !  '  What  a  sacrifice,'  my  heart 
echoed  back ! 

"Mr.  Jefferson  Jones  was  an  ossified  old 
bachelor.  He  had  but  one  idea  in  his  head,  and 
that  was,  how  to  make  money.  There  was  only 
one  thing  he  understood  equally  well,  and  that 
was,  how  to  keep  it.  He  was  angular,  prim,  cold 
and  precise;  mean,  grovelling,  contemptible  and 
cunning. 

"And  Edith!  Our  peerless  Edith,  whose  lovers 
were  *  legion ;'  Edith,  with  her  passionate  heart, 
her  beauty,  grace,  taste  and  refinement ;  Edith  to 
vow  '  love  and  honor '  to  such  a  soulless  block ! 
It  made  me  shudder  to  think  of  it!  I  felt  as 
though  his  very  gaze  was  profanation. 

"  Well,  the  wedding  was  over ;  and  she  was 
duly  installed  mistress  of  Jefferson  House.  She 
had  fine  dresses,  fine  furniture,  a  fine  equipage, 
and  the  stupidest  possible  encumbrance,  in  the 
shape  of  a  husband. 

"Mr.  Jefferson  Jones  was  very  proud  of  his 
bride ;  firstly,  because  she  added  to  his  importance, 
secondly,  because  he  plumed  himself  not  a  little  in 
bearing  off  so  a  dainty  a  prize.  It  gave  him  a 
malicious  pleasure  to  meet  her  old  admirers,  with 
the  graceful  Edith  upon- his  arm.  Of  course  she 


FANNY    FERN.  233 

preferred  him  to  them  all ;  else,  why  did  she 
marry  him  ? 

"  Then  how  deferential  she  was  in  her  manner 
since  their  marriage ;  how  very  polite,  and  how 
careful  to  perform  her  duty  to  the  letter.  Mr. 
Jones  decided,  with  his  usual  acumen,  that  there 
was  no  room  for  a  doubt,  on  that  point !  He 
noticed,  indeed,  that  her  girlish  gaiety  was  gone ; 
but  that  was  a  decided  improvement,  according  to 
his  views.  She  was  Mrs.  Jones,  now,  and  meant 
to  keep  all  the  whiskered  popinjays  at  a  respectful 
distance.  He  liked  it ! 

"  And  so,  through  those  interminable  evenings, 
Edith  sat,  playing  long,  stupid  games  of  chess  with 
him,  or  listening  (?)  to  his  gains  or  losses  in  the 
way  of  trade ;  or  reading  political  articles  of  which 
the  words  conveyed  no  ideas  to  her  absent  mind. 

"  She  walked  through  the  busy  streets,  leaning  on 
his  arm,  with  an  unseen  form  ever  at  her  side  ;  and 
slept — (God  forgive  her !)  next  his  heart,  when  hers 
was  far  away!  But  when  she  was  alone!  no 
human  eye  to  read  her  sad  secret !  her  small  hands 
clasped  in  agony,  and  her  fair  head  bent  to  the 
very  dust, — was  he  not  avenged  ? 


11  It  was  a  driving  storm  ;  Mr.  Jones  concluded 
to  dine  at  a  restaurant  instead  of  returning  home. 


234-  LIFE    AND     BEAUTIES    OF 

He  had.  just  seated  himself,  and  given  his  orders 
to  the  obsequious  waiter,  when  his  attention  was 
attracted  by  the  conversation  of  two  gentleman 
near  him. 

"  '  Have  you  seen  la  belle  Edith,  since  her  mar 
riage,  Harry  ?  ' 

"  '  No ;  I  feel  too  much  vexed  with  her.  Such  a 
splendid  specimen  of  flesh  and  blood  to  marry 
such  an  idiot!  all  for  a  foolish  quarrel  with 
Ainslie.  You  never  saw  such  a  wreck  as  it  has 
made  of  him.  However,  she  is  well  punished ;  for, 
with  all  her  consummate  tact  and  effort  to  keep  up 
appearances,  it  is  very  plain  that  she  is  the  most 
miserable  woman  in  existence,  as  Mr.  Jefferson 
Jones,  whom  I  have  never  seen,  might  perceive, 
if  he  wasn't,  as  all  the  world  says,  the  very  prince 
of  donkeys.' 

Jones  seized  his  hat,  and  rushed  into  the  open 
air,  tugging  at  his  neck-tie  as  if  he  was  choking. 
Six  times  he  went,  like  a  comet,  round  the  square ; 
then,  setting  his  beaver  down  over  his  eyes,  in  a 
very  prophetic  manner,  he  turned  his  footsteps  de 
liberately  homeward.  It  was  but  the  deceitful 
calm  before  the  whirlwind ! 

"  He  found  Edith,  calm,  pale,  and  self-possessed, 
as  usual.  He  was  quite  as  much  so,  himself;  even 
went  so  far  as  to  compliment  her  on  a  coquettish 


FANNY    FERN.  235 

little  jacket  that  fitted  her  rounded  figure  very 
charmingly. 

"  'I'm  thinking  of  taking  a  short  journey,  Edith/ 
said  he,  seating  himself  by  her  side,  and  playing 
with  the  silken  cord  and  tassels  about  her  waist. 
{ As  it  is  wholly  a  business  trip,  it'  would  hamper 
me  to  take  you  with  me — but  you'll  hear  from  me. 
Meanwhile,  you  know  how  to  amuse  yourself; 
hey,  Edith  ?' 

"He  looked  searehingly  in  her  face.  There  was 
no  conscious  blush,  no  change  of  expression,  no 
tremor  of  the  frame.  He  might  as  well  have 
addressed  a  marble  statue. 

"  Mr.  Jefferson  Jones  was  posed  !  "Well,  he  bade 
her  one  of  his  characteristic  adieus  ;  and  when  the 
door  closed,  Edith  felt  as  if  a  mountain  weight  had 
been  lifted  off  her  heart.  There  was  but  one 
course  for  her  to  pursue.  She  knew  it ;  she  had 
already  marked  it  out.  She  would  deny  herself 
to  all  visitors ;  she  would  not  go  abroad  till  her 
husband's  return.  She  was  strong  in  her  purpose ; 
there  should  be  no  door  left  open  for  busy  scandal 
to  enter.  Of  Ainslie,  she  knew  nothing,  save  that 
a  letter  reached  her  from  him  after  her  marriage, 
which  she  had  returned  unopened. 

"  And  so  she  wandered  restlessly  through  those 
splendid  rooms,  and  tried,  by  this  self-inflicted 


236  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

penance,  to  atone  for  the  defection  of  her  heart. 
Did  she  take  her  guitar,  old  songs  they  had  sang 
together  came  unbidden  to  her  lip ;  that  book,  too, 
they  had  read.  Oh,  it  was  all  misery  !  turn  where 
she  would  ! 

l(  Day  after  "day  passed  by — no  letter  from  Mr. 
Jones !  The  time  had  already  passed  that  was 
fixed  upon  for  his  return,  and  Edith,  nervous  from 
close  confinement  and  the  weary  inward  struggle, 
started  like  a  frightened  bird,  at  every  footfall. 

"  It  came  at  last,  the  letter,  sealed  with  black ! 
'  He  had  been  accidentally  drowned — his  hat  was 
found — all  search  for  the  body  had  been  unavail 
ing/ 

"  Edith  was  no  hypocrite.  She  could  not  mourn 
for  him,  save  in  the  outward  garb  of  woe ;  but 
now  that  he  was  dead,  conscience  did  its  office. 
She  had  not,  in  the  eye  of  the  world,  been  untrue ; 
but  there  is  an  eye  that  searches  deeper  !  that  scans 
thoughts  as  well  as  actions. 

"  Ainslie  was  just  starting  for  the  continent  by 
order  of  a  physician,  when  the  news  reached  him. 
A  brief  time  he  gave  to  decorum,  and  then  they  met ! 
It  is  needless  to  say  what  that  meeting  was.  Days 
and  months  of  wretchedness  were  forgotten  like 
some  dreadful  dream.  She  was  again  his  own 
Edith,  sorrowing,  repentant,  and  happy ! 


FANNY    FEKN.  237 

"  They  were  sitting  together,  one  evening ; 
Edith's  hand  was  upon  his  shoulder,  and  her  face 
radiant  as  a  seraph's.  They  were  speaking  of  their 
future  home. 

"  *  Any  spot  on  the  wide  earth  but  this,  dear 
Ainslie.  Take  me  away  from  these  painful  asso 
ciations.' 

"  '  Say  you  so,  pretty  Edith  ? '  said  a  well-known 
voice.  '  I  but  tried  that  faithful  heart  of  yours  to 
prove  it !  Pity  to  turn  such  a  pretty  comedy  into 
a  tragedy,  but  I  happen  to  be  manager  here,  young 
man,'  said  Mr.  Jones,  turning  fiercely  towards  the 
horror-struck  Ainslie! 

"  The  revulsion  was  too  dreadful.  Edith  sur 
vived  but  a  week ;  Ainslie  became  hopelessly 


LVI. 

A    WIFE'S    DEVOTION. 

"DANNY  has  very   nice  ideas   on   this  subject. 
She  says : — 

"  '  Every  wife  needs  a  good  stock  of  love  to  start 
with.' 

"  Don't  she  !  You  are  upon  a  sick  bed  !  a  little 
feeble  thing  lies  upon  your  arm,  that  you  might 
crush  with  one  hand.  You  take  those  little  velvet 
fingers  in  yours,  close  your  eyes,  and  turn  your 
head  languidly  to  the  pillow.  Little  brothers  and 
sisters,  Carry,  and  Harry,  and  Fanny,  and  Frank, 
and  Willy,  and  Mary,  and  Kitty,  (half  a  score) 
come  tiptoeing  into  the  room,  '  to  see  the  new 
baby.'  It  is  quite  an  old  story  to  '  nurse,'  who 
sits  there  like  an  automaton,  while  they  give  vent 
to  their  enthusiastic  admiration  of  its  wee  toes  and 


FANNY    FERN.  239 

fingers,  and  make  profound  inquiries,  which  no 
body  thinks  best  to  hear!  You  look  on  with  a 
languid  smile,  and  they  pass  out,  asking  'why 
they  can't  stay  with  dear  mamma,  and  why  they 
mustn't  play  puss  in  the  corner,'  as  usual  ? 

"You  wonder  if  your  little  croupy  boy  tied  his 
tippet  on  when  he  went  to  school,  and  whether 
Betty  will  see  that  your  husband's  flannel  is  aired, 
and  if  Peggy  has  cleaned  the  silver  and  washed  off 
the  front  door-steps,  and  what  your  blessed  hus 
band  is  about,  that  he  don't  come  home  to  dinner. 
There  sits  old  nurse,  keeping  up  that  dreadful 
treadmill  trotting,  'to  quiet  the  baby,'  till  you 
could  fly  through  the  key-hole  in  desperation. 

The  odor  of  dinner  begins  to  creep  up  stairs — 
you  wonder  if  your  husband's  pudding  will  be 
made  right,  and  if  Betty  will  remember  to  put 
wine  in  the  sauce,  as  he  likes  it ;  and  then  the  per 
spiration  starts  out  on  your  forehead,  as  you  hear 
a  thumping  on  the  stairs,  and  a  child's  suppressed 
scream ;  and  nurse  swathes  the  baby  up  in  flannel 
to  the  tip  of  its  nose,  dumps  it  down  in  the  easy- 
chair,  and  tells  you  to  'leave  the  family  to  her, 
and  go  to  sleep.'  Bye-and-bye  she  comes  in,  after 
staying  down  long  enough  to  get  a  refreshing  cup 
of  coffee — and  walks  up  to  the  bed  with  a  bowl  of 
gruel,  tasting  it,  and  then  putting  the  spoon  back 


240  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

into  the  boivL  In  the  first  place  you  hate  gruel — in 
the  next,  you  couldn't  eat  it  if  she  held  a  pistol  to 
your  head,  after  THAT  SPOON  has  been  in  her 
mouth ;  so  you  meekly  suggest  that  it  be  set  on 
the  table  to  cool,  (hoping  by  some  providential  in 
terposition,  it  may  get  tipped  over.)  Well,  she  creeps 
round  your  room  with  a  pair  of  creaking  shoes,  and 
a  bran  new  gingham  gown,  that  rattles  like  a  paper 
window-curtain,  at  every  step ;  and  smooths  her 
hair  with  your  nice  little  head-brush,  and  opens  a 
drawer  by  mistake  (?)  '  thinking  it  was  the  baby's 
drawer.'  Then  you  hear  little  nails  scratching  on 
the  door ;  and  Charley  whispers  through  the  key 
hole — '  Mamma,  Charley's  tired  ;  please  let  Charley 
come  in  ? '  Nurse  scowls,  and  says  no  ;  but  you 
intercede  (poor  Charley,  he's  only  a  baby  himself.) 
Well,  he  leans  his  little  head  wearily  against  the 
pillow,  and  looks  suspiciously  at  that  little  bundle 
of  flannel  in  nurse's  lap.  It's  clear  he's  had  a 
hard  time  of  it,  what  with  tears  and  molasses  !  The 
little  shining  curls  that  you  have  so  often  rolled 
over  your  fingers,  are  a  tangled  mass;  and  you 
long  to  take  him,  and  make  him  comfortable,  and 
cosset  him  a  little ;  and  then  the  baby  cries  again, 
and  you  turn  your  head  to  the  pillow  with  a 
smothered  sigh.  Nurse  hears  it,  and  Charley  is 
taken  struggling  from  the  room. 


FANNY    FERN.  241 

"  You  take  your  watch  from  under  the  pillow, 
to  see  if  husband  won't  be  home  soon,  and  then 
look  at  nurse,  who  takes  a  pinch  of  snuff  over  your 
bowl  of  gruel,  and  sits  down  nodding  drowsily,  with 
the  baby  in  alarming  proximity  to  the  fire.  Now 
you  hear  a  dear  step  on  the  stairs.  It's  your  Char 
ley  !  How  bright  he  looks !  and  what  nice  fresh 
air  he  brings  with  him  from  out  doors  !  He  parts 
the  bed-curtains,  looks  in,  and  pats  you  on  the 
cheek.  You  just  want  to  lay  your  head  on  his 
shoulder,  and  have  such  a  splendid  cry !  but  there 
sits  that  old  Gorgon  of  a  nurse — she  don't  believe 
in  husbands,  she  don't !  You  make  Charley  a  free 
mason,  sign  to  send  her  down  stairs  for  something. 
He  says,  (right  out  loud — men  are  so  stupid !)  '  What 
did  you  say,  dear?'  Of  course  you  protest  you 
didn't  say  a  word — never  thought  of  such  a  thing  ! 
and  cuddle  your  head  down  to  your  ruffled  pillows, 
and  cry  because  you  don't  know  what  else  to  do, 
and  because  you  are  weak  and  weary,  and  full  of 
care  for  your  family,  and  don't  want  to  see  any 
body  but  'Charley.' 

"  Nurse  says  '  she  shall  have  you  sick,'  and  tells 
your  husband  '  he'd  better  go  down,  and  let  you 
go  to  sleep.'  Off  he  goes,  wondering  what  on 
earth  ails  you,  to  cry  ! — wishing  he,  had  nothing  to 
do  but  lie  still,  and  be  waited  upon !  After  dinner 
11 


242          LIFE    AND     BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

he  comes  in  to  bid  you  good-bye  before  he  goes  to 
his  office — whistles  l Nelly  Ely'  loud  enough  to 
wake  up  the  baby,  (whom  he  calls  '  a  comical  little 
concern  /')  and  puts  his  dear  thoughtless  head  down 
to  your  pillow,  (at  a  signal  from  you,)  to  hear  what 
you  have  to  say.  Well,  there's  no  help  for  it,  you 
cry  again,  and  only  say  ldear  Charley,'  and  he 
laughs,  and  settles  his  dickey,  and  says  you  are  '  a 
nervous  little  puss,'  gives  you  a  kiss,  lights  his 
cigar  at  the  fire,  half  strangles  the  new  baby  with 
the  first  whiff,  and  takes  your  heart  off  with  him 
down  street! 

"  And  you  lie  there  and  eat  that  gruel  I  and  pick 
the  fuzz  all  off  the  blanket,  and  make  faces  at  the 
nurse,  under  the  sheet,  and  wish  Eve  had  never 
ate  that  apple  (Grenesis  3 :  16 ;)'  or  that  you  were 
lAbel'  to  '  Cain '  her  for  doing  it !  " — 


LVII. 


PHILOSOPHY. 

TvE  AK  me  !  how  expensive  it  is  to  lie  poor.  Every 
time  I  go  out,  my  best  bib  and  tucker  has  to  go 
on.  If  Zebedee  was  worth  a  cool  million,  I  might 
wear  a  coal-hod  on  my  head,  if  I  chose,  with  per 
fect  impunity.  There  was  that  old  nabob's  wife 
at  lecture,  the  other  night,  in  a  dress  that  might 
have  been  made  for  Noah's  great-grandmother. 
She  can  afford  it!  Now  if  it  rains  knives  and 
forks,  I  must  sport  a  ten  dollar  hat,  a  forty  dollar 
dress,  and  a  hundred  dollar  shawl.  If  I  go  to  a 
concert,  I  must  take  the  highest  priced  seat,  and 
ride  there  and  back,  just  to  let  '  Tom,  Dick  and 
Harry '  see  that  I  can  afford  it.  Then  we  must 
hire  the  most  expensive  pew  in  the  broad-aisle  of 
a  tip-top  church,  and  give  orders  to  the  sexton  not 


244  LIFE     AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

to  admit  any  strangers  into  it  who  look  snobbish. 
Then  my  little  children,  Napoleon  Bonaparte  and 
Dona  Maria  Smith,  can't  go  to  a  public  school, 
because,  you  know,  we  shouldn't  have  to  pay  any 
thing. 

"Then  if  I  go  shopping,  to  buy  a  paper  of 
needles,  I  have  to  get  a  little  chap  to  bring  them 
home,  because  it  wouldn't  answer  for  me  to  be 
seen  carrying  a  bundle  through  the  streets.  "We 
have  to  keep  three  servants  where  one  might  do  ; 
and  Zebedee's  coats  have  to  be  sent  to  the  tailor 
when  they  need  a  button  sewed  on,  for  the  look  of 
the  thing. 

"  Then  if  I  go  to  the  sea-shore,  in  summer,  I 
can't  take  my  comfort,  as  rich  people  do,  in  ging 
ham  dresses,  loose  shoes,  and  cambric  sun-bonnets. 
My  senses !  no !  I  have  to  be  screwed  up  by  ten 
o'clock  in  a  Swiss  muslin  dress,  a  French  cap,  and 
the  contents  of  an  entire  jeweller's  shop  showered 
over  my  person  ;  and  my  Napoleon  Bonaparte  and 
Dona  Maria  can't  go  off  the  piazza,  because  the 
big  rocks  and  little  pebbles  cut  their  toes  so  badly 
through  their  patent  kid  slippers. 

"  Then  if  Zebedee  goes  a-fishing,  he  wouldn't 
dare  to  put  on  a  linen  coat  for  the  price  of  his 
reputation.  No  indeed !  Why,  he  never  goes  to 


FANNY    FERN.  245 

the  barn-yard  without  drawing  on  his  white  kids. 
Then  he  orders  the  most  ruinous  wines  at  dinner, 
and  fees  those  white  jackets,  till  his  purse  is  as 
empty  as  an  egg-shell.  I  declare  it  is  abominably 
expensive.  I  don't  believe  rich  people,  have  the 
least  idea  how  much  it  costs  poor  people  to  live ! 


LVIII. 

INTERESTING    TO    BASHFUL    MEN. 
"  c  Faint  heart  ne'er  won  fair  lady.' 

TpD'N'T  it  though/  I  FAN-cy  it  does !  If  there's 
anything  in  the  world  that  is  quite  entirely  in 
teresting,  it's  a  man  who  daresn't  say  '  I  love  you,' 
though  his  eyes  told  the  story  long  ago !  Of  course 
you  don't  know  anything  about  it.  Oh,  no ! 
Can't,  for  the  soul  of  you,  tell  why  he*  never  comes 
near  you  without  a  tremor,  or  what  possesses  him 
to  say  '  yes,'  instead  of  '  no,'  or  to  kiss  your  little 
brother  so  often,  and  give  him  so  much  sugar- 
candy  !  Have  no  idea  wliy  he  looks  so  £  distrait ' 
and  embarrassed,  when  you  take  another  gentle 
man's  arm  or  smile  at  him.  Never  see  that  bright 
magnetic  sparkle  in  his  eye  when  you  call  him 
Harry,  instead  of  Mr.  Fay.  Don't  see  him  pick  up 
a  rosebud  that  you  dropped  from  your  girdle,  and 


FANNY     FERN.  247 

hide  it  in  his  vest!  (don't  like  it,  either!!)  You 
don't  notice  what  a  long  job  he  makes  of  it,  putting 
your  shawl  on.  You  haven't  the  slightest  suspi 
cion  where  the  mate  of  your  little  kid  glove  went, 
the  last  time  you  went  to  walk  ;  you  are  not  at  all 
magnetically  affected  yourself!  Oh,  no,  not  a  lit  of 
it !  Just  as  cool  as  a  fur — refrigerator  ! 

"  Don't  feel  a  bit  nervous  when  your  mother  gets 
up  and  leaves  the  room  !  Always  have  a  topic  at 
your  tongue's  end  to  dash  off  on.  Never  pick 
your  ribbons  all  to  pieces  because  you  daresn't 
look  him  in  the  face.  Never  refuse  to  go  to  ride 
with  him,  when  you  are  just  dying  to  go.  Never 
blush  as  red  as  a  pulpit  cushion,  when  your 
brother  teases  you  about  him,  or  say  ( you  don't  care 
a  fig  for  him.'  When  HIS  ring  at  the  door  sends 
your  heart  to  your  mouth,  you  never  snatch  up  a 
book  and  get  so  entirely  absorbed  in  it,  that  he  is 
obliged  to  touch  your  arm,  before  you  can  find  out 
that  he's  in  your  presence !  You  never  read  his 
notes,  when  you  could  say  them  all  off  with  your  eyes 
shut!  You  never  hide  them  where  anybody  can 
find  them — without  you  should  be  taken  with  a 
fainting  fit !  You  take  precious  good  care  to  keep 
all  that  from  Mr.  Fay ! 

"  All  right,  dear ;  don't  hold  out  a  single  straw  to 
help  him  ashore!     Make  him  come  every  step  of  the 


248          LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

way  without  a  guide-board !  but  when  lie  GETS 
THERE — hem  ! — if  you  own  a  soul — tell  Mm  so  ! 

11 l  Faint  heart  never  won  fair  lady,1  hey !  I  dif 
fer  !  If  there's  anything  that's  a  regular  shower- 
bath  to  love,  it's  your  '  veni,  vidi,  vici '  man,  who 
considers  himself  so  excruciatingly  omnipotent ! 
Softly,  sir  !  Forewarned,  forearmed !  You  rouse 
all  the  antagonism  in  our  nature !  The  more  you 
are  sure  you'll  ivin,  the  more  you  won't !  You've  to 
earn  your  laurels, — to  win  your  battle;  (if  you 
ever  noticed  it  /) 

<{  Do  you  suppose  we  are  going  to  lose  all  those 
interesting,  half-broken  sentences,  and  all  those 
pretty  little  blunders  you  make  when  we  come 
near  you  ?  If  you  only  knew  how  interesting  it 
was  for  us  to  see  the  color  rush  to  your  forehead, 
at  such  times,  or  to  see  you  look  so  *  triste  '  when 
some  old  maid  comes  in  to  spend  the  evening,  and 
you  have  to  leave  your  little  Paradise  to  go  creep 
ing  home  with  her  !  or  to  see  you  manoeuvre  one 
whole  evening  with  a  diplomacy  (deserving  a  re 
ward)  for  a  seat  next  to  us  !  Goodness  gracious  ! 
I  tell  you  '  faint  hearts '  never  win  anything  else 
but  'fair  ladies!'" 


LIX. 

THE     ANGEL    CHILD. 

T  ITTLE  Mabel  had  no  mother.  She  was  slight, 
and  sweet,  and  fragile,  like  her  type,  the  lily  of 
the  valley.  Her  little  hand,  as  you  took  it  in 
yours,  seemed  almost  to  melt  in  your  clasp.  She 
had  large,  dark  eyes,  whose  depths,  with  all  your 
searching,  you  might  fail  to  fathom.  Her  cheek 
was  very  pale,  save  when  some  powerful  emotion 
lent  it  a  passing  flush ;  her  fair,  open  brow  might 
have  defied  an  angel's  scrutiny ;  her  little  footfall 
was  noiseless  as  a  falling  snow-flake ;  and  her 
voice  was  sweet  and  low  as  the  last  note  of  the 
bird  ere  it  folds  its  head  under  its  wing  for  its 
nightly  slumber. 

u  The  house  in  which  Mabel  lived,  was  large  and 
splendid.  You  would  have  hesitated  to  crush  with 
your  foot  the  bright  flowers  on  the  thick,  rich 


250  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES     OF 

carpet.  The  rare  old  pictures  on  the  walls  were 
marred  by  no  envious  cross-lights;  light  and  shade 
were  artistically  disposed.  Beautiful  statues,  which 
the  sculptor  (dream-inspired)  had  risen  from  a 
feverish  couch  to  finish,  lay  bathed  in  the  rosy 
light  that  streamed  through  the  silken  curtains. 
Obsequious  servants  glided  in  and  out,  as  if  taught 
by  instinct  to  divine  the  unspoken  wants  of  their 
mistress. 

"  I  said  the  little  Mabel  had  no  mother ;  and  yet 
there  was  a  lady,  fair  and  bright,  of  whose  beauti 
ful  lip,  and  large  dark  eyes,  and  graceful  limbs, 
little  Mabel's  were  the  mimic  counterpart.  Poets, 
artists,  and  sculptors,  had  sung,  and  sketched,  and 
modelled  her  charms.  Nature  had  been  most 
prodigal  of  adornment — there  was  only  one  little 
thing  she  had  forgotten — the  Lady  Mabel  had  no 
soul. 

"  She  did  not  forget  to  deck  little  Mabel's  limbs 
with  costliest  fabrics  of  most  unique  fashioning; 
not  that  every  shining  ringlet  on  that  graceful 
little  head  was  not  arranged  by  Mademoiselle 
Jennet,  in  strict  obedience  to  orders;  not  that  a 
large  nursery  was  not  fitted  up  luxuriously  at  the 
top  of  the  house,  filled  with  toys  which  its  little 
owner  never  cared  to  look  at ;  not  that  the  Lady 
Mabel's  silken  robe  did  not  sweep,  once  a  week, 


FANNY     FERN.  251 

with  a  queenly  grace  through  the  apartment,  to 
see  if  the  mimic  wardrobe  provided  for  its  little 
mistress  fitted  becomingly,  or  needed  replenishing, 
or  was  kept  in  order  by  the  smart  French  maid. 
Still,  as  I  said  before,  the  little  Mabel  had  no 
mother  ! 

"  See  her,  as  she  stands  there  by  the  nursery 
window,  crushing  her  bright  ringlets  in  the  palm 
of  her  tiny  hand.  Her  large  eyes  glow,  her  cheek 
flushes,  then  pales ;  now  the  little  breast  heaves ! 
for  the  gorgeous  west  is  one  sea  of  molten  gold. 
Each  bright  tint  thrills  her  with  strange  rapture. 
She  almost  holds  her  breath,  as  they  deepen,  then, 
fade  and  die  away ;  and  now  the  last  bright  beam 
disappears  behind  the  hills;  and  the  soft,  grey 
twilight  comes  creeping  on.  Amid  its  deepening 
shadows,  one  bright  star  springs  suddenly  to  its 
place  in  the  heavens !  Little  Mabel  cannot  tell 
why  the  warm  tears  are  coursing  down  her  sweet 
face,  or  why  her  limbs  tremble,  and  her  heart 
beats  so  fast,  or  why  she  dreads  lest  the  shrill 
voice  of  Mademoiselle  Jennet  should  break  the 
spell.  She  longs  to  soar,  like  a  bird,  or  a  bright 
angel.  She  had  a  nurse  once  who  told  her  '  there 
was  a  God.'  She  wants  to  know  if  He  holds  that 
bright-  star  in  its  place.  She  wants  to  know  if 
Heaven  is  a  long  way  off,  and  if  she  shall  ever  be 


252         LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

a  bright  angel;  and  she  would  like  to  say  a 
little  prayer,  her  heart  is  so  full,  if  she  only  Icnew 
how ;  but  poor,  sweet  little  Mabel  —  she  has  no 
mother" 


LX.  i 

UNCLE  BEN'S  ATTACK  OF  SPRING- 
FEVEE. 


rriSN'T  possible  you  have  been  insane  enough  to 
go  to  housekeeping  in  the  country  for  the  sum 
mer  ?  Oh,  you  ought  to  hear  my  experience/  and 
Uncle  Ben  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  fore 
head  at  the  very  thought. 

"Yes,  I  tried  it  once,  with  city  habits  and  a 
city  wife  ;  got  rabid  with  the  dog-days,  and 
nothing  could  cure  me  but  a  nibble  of  green 
grass.  There  was  Susan,  you  know,  who  never 
was  off  a  brick  pavement  in  her  life,  and  didn't 
know  the  difference  between  a  cheese  and  a  grind 
stone. 

"  Well,  we  ripped  up  our  carpets,  and  tore  down 
our  curtains,  and  packed  up  our  crockery,  and 
nailed  down  our  pictures,  and  eat  dust  for  a  week, 
and  then  we  emigrated  to  Daisy  Yille. 


254  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES     OF 

"  Could  I  throw  up  a  window  or  fasten  back  a 
blind  in  that  house,  without  sacrificing  my  sus 
penders  and  waistband  button  ?  No,  sir  !  Weren't 
the  walls  full  of  Eed  Eovers  ?  Didn't  the  doors 
fly  open  at  every  wind  gust  ?  Didn't  the  roof 
leak  like  the  mischief?  Wasn't  the  chimney 
lease<J  to  a  pack  of  swallows  ?  Wasn't  the  well 
a  half  a  mile  from  the  house  ? 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  laugh.  Instead  of  the  com 
fortable  naps  to  which  I  had  been  accustomed,  I 
had  to  sleep  with  one  eye  open  all  night,  lest  I 
shouldn't  get  into  the  city  in  time.  I  had  to  be 
shaving  in  the  morning  before  a  rooster  in  the 
barn-yard  had  stirred  a  feather ;  swallowed  my 
coffee  and  toast  by  steam,  and  then,  still  mastica 
ting,  made  for  the  front  door.  There  stood  Peter 
with  my  horse  and  gig  (for  I  detest  your  cars  and 
omnibusses.)  On  the  floor  of  the  chaise  was  a 
huge  basket  to  bring  home  material  for  the  next 
day's  dinner  ;  on  the  seat  was  a  dress  of  my 
wife's,  to  be  left  '  without  fail '  at  Miss  Sewing 
Silk's,  to  have  the  forty-eleventh  hook  moved  one- 
sixth  of  a  degree  higher  up  on  the  back.  Then 
there  was  a  package  of  shawls  from  Tom  Fools  & 
Co.,  to  be  returned ;  and  a  pair  of  shoes  to  carry 
to  Lapstone,  who  was  to  select  another  pair  for  me 
to  bring  out  at  night ;  and  a  demijohn  to  be  filled 


FANNY    FERN.  255 

with  Sherry,  &c.  Well,  I  whipped  up  Bucepha 
lus,  left  my  sleeping  wife  and  babies,  and  started 
for  town,  cogitating  over  an  intricate  business  snarl 
which  bid  defiance  to  any  straightening  process. 
I  hadn't  gone  half  a  mile  before  an  old  maid  (I 
hate  old  maids)  stopped  me  to  know  if  I  was  going 
into  town,  and  if  I  was,  if  I  wouldn't  take  her  in, 
as  the  omnibusses  made  her  sick.  She  said  she  was 
'  niece  to  Squire  Dandelion,  and  had  a  few  chores 
to  do  a-shopping.'  So  I  took  her  in,  or  rather  she 
took  me  in  (but  she  didn't  do  it  but  once- -for  I 
bought  a  sulkey  next  day) !  Well,  it  came  night, 
and  I  was  hungry  as  a  Hottentot,  for  I  never  could 
dine  as  your  married  widowers  pro  tern,  do,  at  eating- 
houses,  where  one  gravy  answers  for  flesh,  fish,  and 
fowl,  and  the  pudding-sauce  is  as  black  as  the  cook's 
complexion.  So  I  went  round  on  an  empty  stom 
ach,  hunting  up  my  express-man  parcels,  and  wend 
ing  my  way  to  the  stable  with  arms  and  pockets 
running  over.  When  I  got  home,  found  my  wife 
in  despair;  no  tacks  in  the  house  to  nail  down  car 
pets,  and  not  one  to  be  had  at  the  store  in  the  vil 
lage  ;  the  cook  had  deserted,  because  she  couldn't 
do  without  '  her  city  privileges?  (meaning  Jonathan 
Jones,  the  c  dry  dirt '  man ;)  and  the  chambermaid, 
a  buxom  country  girl,  with  fire  red  hair  and  tem 
per  to  match,  was  spinning  round  the  crockery 


256  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

(a  la  Blitz)  because  she  '  couldn't  eat  with  the 
family.' 

"  Then  Charley  was  taken  with  the  croup  in  the 
night,  and  in  my  fright  I  put  my  feet  into  my  coat 
sleeves,  and  my  arms  into  my  pants,  and  put  on 
one  of  my  wife's  ruffles  instead  of  a  dickey,  and 
rode  three  miles  in  a  pelting  rain,  for  some  '  goose- 
grease  '  for  his  throat. 

"  Then  we  never  found  out  till  cherries,  and 
strawberries,  and  peaches  were  ripe,  how  many 
friends  (?)  we  had.  There  was  a  horse  hitched  at 
every  rail  in  the  fence,  so  long  as  there  was  any 
thing  left  to  eat  on  a  tree  in  the  farm ;  but  if  my 
wife  went  in  town  shopping,  and  called  on  any  of 
them,  they  were  £  out,  or  engaged ; ' — or  if  at  home, 
had  'just  done  dinner,  and  were  going  to  ride.' 

"  Then  there  was  no  school  in  the  neighbor 
hood  for  the  children,  and  they  were  out  in  the 
barn-yard  feeding  the  pigs  with  lump-sugar,  and 
chasing  the  hens  off  the  nest,  to  see  what  was  the 
prospect  for  eggs,  and  making  little  boats  of  their 
shoes  and  sailing  them  in  the  pond,  aud  milking 
the  cow  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  &c. 

"  Then  if  I  dressed  in  the  morning  in  linen 
coat,  thin  pants,  and  straw  hat,  I'd  be  sure  to  find 
the  wind  '  dead  east '  when  I  got  into  the  city ;  or 
if  I  put  on  broadcloth  and  fixins  to  match,  it 


FANNY    FERN.  257 

would  be  hotter  than  Shadrach's  furnace,  all  day 
— while  the  dense  morning  fog  would  extract  the 
starch  from  my  dickey  and  shirt-bosom,  till  they 
looked  very  like  a  collapsed  flapjack. 

"  Then  our  meeting-house  was  a  good  two  miles 
distant,  and  we  had  to  walk,  or  stay  at  home ; 
because  my  factotum  (Peter)  wouldn't  stay  on  the 
farm  without  he  could  have  the  horse  Sundays  to 
go  to  Mill  Tillage  to  see  his  affianced  Nancy. 
Then  the  old  farmers  leaned  on  my  stone  wall, 
and  laughed  till  the  tears  came  into  their  eyes,  to 
see  '  the  city  gentleman's '  experiments  in  horti 
culture,  as  they  passed  by  'to  meetinV 

"  Well,  sir,  before  summer  was  over,  my  wife 
and  I  looked  as  jaded  as  omnibus  horses — she  with 
chance  '  help '  and  floods  of  city  company,  and  I 
with  my  arduous  duties  as  express  man  for  my 
own  family  in  particular,  and  the  neighbors  in 
general. 

"  And  now  here  we  are — *  No  9  Kossuth- 
square.'  Can  reach  anything  we  want,  by  putting 
our  hands  out  the  front  windows.  If,  as  the  poet 
says,  '  man  made  the  town?  all  I've  got  to  say  is — 
he  understood  his  business !  " 


LXI. 


CONNUBIAL     ADVERTISEMENT. 

AN  this  subject  Fanny  writes  eloquently,  as  will 
^be  seen  by  the  following  sketch.  .  She  writes  as 
if  she  had  learned  all  about  it,  in  the  bitter  school 
of  experience. 

"  c  CONNUBIAL.  —  Mr.  Albert  Wicks,  of  Coventry,  under  date 
of  December  28th,  advertised  his  wife  as  having  left  his  bed 
and  board  ;  and  now,  under  date  of  March  26th,  he  appends 
to  his  former  .notice,  the  following: 

'  Mrs.  Wicks,  if  you  ever  intend  to  come  back  and  live  with 
me  any  more  you  must  come  back  now  or  not  at  all. 

1  1  love  you  as  I  do  my  life,  and  if  you  will  come  now.  I 
will  forgive  you  for  all  you  have  done  and  threatened  to  do, 
which  I  can  prove  by  three  good  witnesses  ]  and  if  not,  I 
shall  attend  to  your  case  without  delay,  and  soon,  too.' 

"  There,  now,  Mrs.  "Wicks,  what  is  to  be  done  ? 
'  Three  good  witnesses,'  think  of  that  !  What  the 
mischief  have  you  been  about  ?  Whatever  it  is 


FANNY    FERN.  259 

Mr.  Wicks  is  ready  to  'love  you  like  his  life.' 
Consistent  Mr.  Wicks ! 

"  Now  take  a  little  advice,  my  dear  innocent, 
and  don't  allow  yourself  to  be  badgered  or  fright 
ened  into  anything.  None  but  a  coward  ever 
threatens  a  woman.  Put  that  in  your  memoran 
dum  book.  It's  all  bluster  and  braggadocio. 
Thread  your  darning-needle,  and  tell  him  you  are 
ready  for  him  —  ready  for  anything  except  his 
'  loving  you  like  his  life ; '  that  you  could  not 
possibly  survive  that  infliction,  without  having 
your  '  wick'  snuffed  entirely  out. 

"  Sew  away,  just  as  if  there  was  not  a  domestic 
earthquake  brewing  under  your  connubial  feet. 
If  it  sends  you  up  in  the  air,  it  sends  him  too — 
there's  a  pair  of  you  !  Put  that  in  his  Wick — ed 
ear !  Of  course  he  will  sputter  away,  as  if  he  had 
swallowed  a  *  Koman  candle/  and  you  can  take  a 
nap  till  he  gets  through,  and  then  offer  him  your 
smelling-bottle  to  quiet  his  nerves. 

"  That's  the  way  to  quench  him  !  " 


LXII. 

WHAT    FANNY    THINKS    ABOUT    SEWING 
MACHINES. 

THERE'S  'nothing  new  under  the  sun;' —  so 
I've  read,  somewhere  ;  either  in  Ecclesiastes  or 
Uncle  Tom's  Cabin ;  but  at  any  rate,  I  was  forcibly 
reminded  of  the  profound  wisdom  of  the  remark, 
upon  seeing  a  great  flourish  of  trumpets  in  the 
papers  about  a  *  Sewing  Machine,'  that  had  been 
lately  invented. 

"  Now  if  /  know  anything  of  history,  that  dis 
covery  dates  back  as  far  as  the  Garden  of  Eden. 
If  Mrs.  Adam  wasn't  the  first  sewing  machine,  Pll 
give  up  guessing.  Didn't  she  go  right  to  work 
making  aprons,  before  she  had  done  receiving  her 
bridal  calls  from  the  beasts  and  beastesses  ?  Cer 
tainly  she  did,  and  I  honor  her  for  it,  too. 

"  Well — do  you  suppose  all  her  pretty  little  de- 


FANNY    FEKN.  261 

scendants  who  ply  their  *  busy  fingers '  in  the  upper 
lofts  of  tailors,  and  hatters,  and  vest-makers,  and 
'  finding '  establishments,'  are  going  to  be  super 
seded  by  that  dumb  old  thing  ?  Do  you  suppose 
their  young  and  enterprising  patrons  prefer  the 
creaking  of  a  crazy  machine  to  the  music  of  their 
young  voices  ?  Not  by  a  great  deal ! 

"  It's  something,  I  can  tell  you,  for  them  to  see 
their  pretty  faces  light  up,  when  they  pay  off  their 
wages  of  a  Saturday  night  (small  fee  enough  !  too 
often,  God  knows!)  Pity  that  the  shilling  heart 
so  often  accompanies  the  guinea  m$ans. 

"  Oh,  launch  out,  gentlemen  !  Don't  alwayslook 
at  things  with  a  business  eye.  Those  fragile  forms 
are  young,  to  toil  so  unremittingly.  God  made  no 

distinction  of  sex  when  he  said — '  The  laborer  is 

• 

worthy  of  his  hire.'  Man's  cupidity  puts  that  in 
terpretation  upon  it. 

"  Those  young  operatives  in  your  employ,  pass, 
in  their  daily  walks,  forms  youthful  as  their  own, 
'clothed  in  purple  and  fine  linen,'  who  ''toil  not, 
neither  do  they  spin.'  Oh,  teach  them  not  to  look 
after  their  '  satin  and  sheen,'  purchased  at  such 
a  fearful  cost,  with  a  discouraged  sigh  ! 

"For  one,  I  can  never  pass  such  a  l fallen  angel' 
with  a  '  stand  aside '  feeling.  A  neglected  youth, 
an  early  orphanage,  poverty,  beauty,  coarse  fare, 


262          LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES,    ETC. 

the  weary  day  of  toil  lengthened  into  night, — a 
mere  pittance  its  reward.  Youth,  health,  young 
blood,  and  the  practised  wile  of  the  ready  tempter ! 
Oh,  ivhere's  the  marvel  ? 

"  Think  of  all  iliis,  when  you  poise  that  hardly 
earned  dollar,  on  your  business  finger.  What  if 
it  were  your  own  delicate  sister?  Let  a  LITTLE 
heart  creep  into  that  shrewd  bargain.  'Twill  be 
an  investment  in  the  Bank  of  Heaven,  that  shall 
return  to  you  four-fold." 


LXIII. 

THE     TIME     TO     CHOOSE. 

MRS.  CHRISSHOLM  says  :— "The  best  time  to 
choose  a  wife  is  early  in  the  morning.  If  a 
young  lady  is  at  all  inclined  to  sulks  and  slattern- 
ness,  it  is  just  before  breakfast.  As  a  general 
thing,  a  woman  don't  get  on  her  temper,  till  after 
10  A.  M." 

Very  spiritedly  Fanny  makes  answer  : — - 

"  *  Men  never  look  slovenly  before  breakfast — 
no  indeed!  Never  run  round  vestless  in  their 
stocking-feet,  with  dressing-gown  inside  out ;  soiled 
hankerchief  hanging  by  one  corner  out  of  the 
pocket ;  minus  dickey  ;  minus  neck-tie ;  pantaloon 
straps  flying  at  their  heels  ;  suspenders  streaming 
from  their  waistband;  chin  shaved  on  one  side, 


264         LIFE    AND 

lathered  on  the  other ;  last  night's  coat  and  pants 
on  the  floor,  just  where  they  hopped  out  of  them ; 
face  snarled  up  in  forty  wrinkles,  because  the 
chamber  fire  won't  burn ;  and  because  it  snows ; 
and  because  the  office-boy  hasn't  been  for  the 
keys ;  and  because  the  newspaper  hasn't  come ; 
and  because  they  smoked  too  many  cigars  by  one 
dozen,  the  night  before  ;  and  because  they  lost  that 
bet,  and  can't  pay  the  Scot-t\  and  because  there's 
an  omelet  instead  of  a  chicken-leg  for  breakfast ; 
and  because  they  are  out  of  sorts  and  shaving- 
soap  ;  and  out  of  cigars  and  credit ;  and  can't  any 
how  *  get  their  temper  on/  till  they  get  some 
money  and  a  mint  julap  ! 

"  Any  time   *  before  10  o'clock,'  is  the  time  to 
4  choose '  a  husband — perhaps  !  " 


LXIV. 

OUR     NELLY. 

THIS  is  one  of  Fanny's  sweet  bits  of  pathos ;  so 
sweet,  so  pure,  it  would  furnish  an  apology  for 
half  a  volume  of  coarse  slang : — 

"  <  Who  is  she  ?  '  '  Why,  that  is  our  Nelly,  to 
be  sure.'  Nobody  ever  passed  Nelly  without  ask 
ing,  '  Who  is  she  ?  '  One  can't  forget  the  glance 
of  that  blue  eye,  in  a  hurry ;  nor  the  waving  of 
those  golden  locks ;  nor  the  breezy  grace  of  that 
lithe  figure  ;  nor  those  scarlet  lips,  nor  the  bright, 
glad  sparkle  of  the  whole  face ;  and  then  she  is 
not  a  bit  proud ;  although  she  steps  so  like  a  queen 
she  would  shake  hands  just  as  quick  with  a  horny 
palm  as  with  a  kid  glove.  The  world  can't  spoil 
'  our  Nelly/  for  her  heart  is  in  the  right  place. 

"  £  You  should  have  seen  her  thank  an  old 
farmer,  the  other  day,  for  clearing  the  road,  that 
she  might  pass.  He  shaded  his  eyes  with  his 
12 


266  LIFE    AND     BEAUTIES    -OF 

hand,  when  she  swept  by,  as  if  he  had  been  dazzled 
by  a  sudden  flash  of  sunlight,  and  muttered  to 
himself,  as  he  looked  after  her — ( Won't  she 
make  somebody's  heart  ache  ?'  Well,  she  has,  but 
it  is  because  from  among  all  her  lovers  she  could 
marry  but  one,  and,  God  save  us  !  that  her  choice 
should  have  fallen  upon  Walter  Lee !  If  he  don't 
quench  out  the  love-light  in  those  blue  eyes,  my 
name  is  not  John  Morrison.  I've  seen  his  eyes 
flash  when  things  didn't  suit  him ;  I've  seen  him 
nurse  his  wrath  to  keep  it  warm  till  the  smoulder 
ing  embers  were  ready  for  conflagration.  He's  as 
vindictive  as  an  Indian.  I'd  as  soon  mate  a  dove 
with  a  tiger,  as  give  him  £  our  Nelly.'  There's  a 
dozen  noble  fellows,  this  hour,  ready  to  lay  down 
their  lives  for  her,  and  yet  out  of  the  whole  crowd 
she  must  choose  Walter  Lee.  Oh,  I  have  no 
patience  to  think  of  it.  Well-a-day !  mark  my 
words,  he  will  break  her  heart  before  a  twelve 
month  1  He's  a  pocket  edition  of  Napoleon.' 


a  A  year  had  passed  by,  and  amid  the  hurry  of 
business  and  the  din  of  the  great  city,  I  had  quite 
forgotten  Glenburn  and  its  fairy  queen.  It  was  a 
time  to  recall  her  to  mind,  that  lovely  June  morn 
ing — with  its  soft  fleecy  clouds,  its  glad  sunlight, 
its  song  of  birds,  and  its  breath  of  roses ;  and  so  I 


FANNY    FERN.  267 

threw  the  reins  on  Eomeo's  neck,  that  he  might 
choose  his  own  pace  down  the  sweet-briar  path, 
to  John  Morrison's  cottage.  And  there  sat  John, 
in  the  doorway,  smoking  his  pipe,  with  Towser 
crouched  at  his  feet,  in  the  same  old  spot,  just  as 
if  the  sun  had  never  gone  down  behind  the  hills 
since  I  parted  with  him. 

"  '  And  *  our  Nelly,7  said  I,  taking  up  the  thread 
of  his  year  old  narrative  as  though  it  had  never 
been  broken — '  and  '  our  Nelly  ?  ' 

"  'Under  the  sod,'  said  the  old  man,  with  a  dark 
frown ;  '  under  the  sod.  He  broke  her  heart,  just 
as  I  told  you  he  would.  Such  a  bridal  as  it  was ! 
I'd  as  lief  have  gone  to  a  funeral.  And  then  Wal 
ter  carried  her  off  to  the  city,  where  she  was  as 
much  out  of  her  element  as  a  humming-bird  in  a 
meeting-house ;  and  tried  to  make  a  fine  lady  of 
her,  with  stiff,  city  airs,  and  stiff  city  manners.  It 
was  like  trying  to  fetter  the  soft  west  wind,  which 
comes  and  goes  at  its  own  sweet  will ;  and  Nelly 
— who  was  only  another  name  for  Nature — pined 
and  drooped  like  a  bird  in  a  darkened  cage. 

"  *  One  by  one  her  old  friends  dropped  off, 
wearied  with  repeated  and  rude  repulses  from  her 
moody  husband,  till  he  was  left,  as  he  desired, 
master  of  the  field.  It  was  astonishing  the  ascend 
ancy  he  gained  over  his  sweet  wife,  contemptible 


268  LIFE     AND  BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

as  lie  was.  She  made  no  objection  to  his  most 
absurd  requirements  ;  but  her  step  lost  its  spring, 
her  eye  its  sparkle ;  and  one  might  listen  long  for 
her  merry-ringing  laugh.  Slowly,  sadly,  to  Nelly 
came  that  terrible  conviction  from  which  a  wife 
has  no  appeal.  Ah !  there  is  no  law  to  protect 
woman  from  negative  abuse  !  no  mention  made  in 
the  statute  book  (which  men  frame  for  themselves} 
of  the  constant  dropping  of  daily  discomforts  which 
wear  the  loving  heart  away.  No  allusion  to  looks 
or  words  that  are  like  poisoned  arrows  to  the  sink 
ing  spirit.  No !  if  she  can  show  no  mark  of  brutal 
fingers  on  her  delicate  flesh — he  has  fulfilled  his 
legal  promise  to  the  letter — to  love,  honor,  and 
cherish  her.  Out  on  such  a  mockery  of  justice  ! 

"  <  Well,  sir ;  Nelly  fluttered  back  to  Glenburn, 
with  the  broken  wing  of  hope,  to  die !  So  wasted ! 
so  lovely !  The  lips  that  blessed  her,  could  not 
choose  but  to  curse  him.  l  She  leaned  on  a  broken 
reed,'  said  her  old  gray-haired  father,  as  he  closed 
her  blue  eyes  forever.  { May  God  forgive  him,  for 
I  never  can,'  said  an  old  lover,  whose  heart  was 
buried  in  her  grave. 

"  'NELLY  LEE,  aged  IS.' 

"  *  You'll  read  it  in  the  village  churchyard,  sir ; 
eighteen !  Brief  years,  sir,  to  drain  all  of  happi 
ness  Life's  CUP  oonld  offer !  ' " 


LXV. 

i  CAN'T. 

THIS  is  a  phrase  which  is  "  teetotally  "  banished 
"  from  Fanny's  "  Fern  dictionary."  Bead  the  fol 
lowing  exordium,  and  you'll  never  think  of  doubt 
ing  her  assertion,  that  she  is  "  a  little  Bunker-Hill " 
herself — a  genuine  Napoleon  in  petticoats. 

"  Apollo  !  what  a  face !  doleful  as  a  hearse ; 
folded  hands  ;  hollow  chest ;  whining  voice  ;  the 
very  picture  of  cowardly  irresolution.  Spring  to 
your  feet,  hold  up  your  head,  set  your  teeth  to 
gether,  draw  that  fine  form  of  yours  up  to  the 
height  that  God  made  it ;  draw  an  immense  long 
breath,  and  look  about  you.  What  do  you  see  ? 
Why,  all  creation  taking  care  of  number  one — 
pushing  ahead  like  the  car  of  Juggernaut,  over 
live  victims.  There  it  is ;  and  you  can't  help  it. 
Are  you  going  to  lie  down  and  be  crushed  ? 


270          LIFE 

"  By  all  that's  holy,  no!  dash  ahead!  You've 
as  good  a  right  to  mount  the  triumphal  car  as  your 
neighbor.  Snap  your  fingers  at  croakers ;  if  you 
can't  get  round  a  stump,  leap  over  it,  high  and 
dry  !  Have  nerves  of  steel,  a  will  of  iron  ;  never 
mind  sideaches,  or  heartaches,  or  headaches;  dig 
away  without  stopping  to  breathe,  or  to  notice 
envy  or  malice.  Set  your  target  in  the  clouds  and 
aim  at  it.  If  your  arrow  falls  short  of  the  mark, 
what  of  that  ?  Pick  it  up  and  go  at  it  again.  If 
you  should  never  reach  it,  you'll  shoot  higher  than 
as  if  you  only  aimed  at  a  bush.  Don't  whine,  if 
your  friends  fall  off.  At  the  first  stroke  of  good 
luck,  by  Mammon  !  they'll  swarm  around  you  like 
a  hive  of  bees,  till  you  are  disgusted  with  human 
nature. 

tlil  caritl*  Oh,  pshaw!  I  throw  my  glove  in 
your  face,  if  I  am  a  woman  !  You  are  a  disgrace 
to  corduroys.  What!  a  man  lack  courage!  A 
man  want  independence!  A  man  to  be  discour 
aged  at  obstacles  !  A  man  afraid  to  face  anything 
on  earth  save  his  Maker !  Why !  I'm  a  little 
1  Bunlter  HillJ  myself!  I've  the  most  unmitigated 
contempt  for  you  !  you  little  ^lisillanimous  pussy 
cat !  There's  nothing  manly  about  you,  except 
your  whiskers." 


LXVI. 

,    "WRITTEN 
OUT    BY     FANNY     FERN. 

"  c  All  dissimulation  is  disloyality  to  love. ' 

T'VE  thought  so  before,'  said  Mrs.  Smith  ;  *  but  now 
I  know  it,  because  I  read  it  in  the  newspapers. 
These  editors  beat  the  D — utch  for  understanding 
human  nature,  (all  except  female  nature;)  there 
they  are  decidedly  benighted.  However,  it  isn't 
for  my  interest  to  throw  any  light  on  that  subject ; 
it  is  an  interesting  study  that  I  shan't  interfere 
with.  But  this  is  a  digression.  As  I  was 
saying,  'dissimulation  is  disloyalty  to  love.' 
Didn't  Mr.  Smith  tell  me,  when  he  asked  me, 
on  his  knees,  to  make  him  the  happiest  of 
men,  that  I  was  the  only  daughter  of  Eve  he  ever 
fancied ;  and  didn't  I,  before  the  honey-moon  was 
over,  find  in  his  old  bachelor  trunk,  locks  of  hair 


272          LIFE    AND 

of  every  color  the  sun  ever  shone  upon?  And 
doesn't  it  do  me  good  to  put  my  matrimonial 
foot  on  the  cricket  that  I  stuffed  with  them? 
Certainly — I  only  wish  I  had  their  entire  scalps  ! 

"  Well — didn't  he  come  home  one  Sunday,  with 
a  face  as  long  as  an  orthodox  steeple,  and  give  me 
•'  the  text  and  heads  of  the  discourse,7  when  he 
had  been  off  rolling  ninepins  all  the  morning? 
And  didn't  I  always  know,  when  he  kissed  me, 
or  gave  me  a  twenty  dollar  bill,  (which  was  much 
more  acceptable!)  that  it  was  the  premonitory 
symptom  of  a  desperate  flirtation  with  somebody  ? 
and  wasn't  I  sure,  when  that  buff  vest,  and  blue 
coat  with  bright  brass  buttons,  went  on,  that  there 
was  immense  execution  to  be  done  somewhere  on 
forbidden  ground  ? 

«  Well—'  Life  is  short ;  '  so  is  Mr.  Smith.  No 
help  for  either,  that  I  know  of!  I'm  too  busy, 
amusing  myself,  to  attend  to  his  little  derelictions. 
If  there's  anything  that  I  ignore  it  is  curiosity.  It 
is  so  decidedly  a  masculine  failing  that  I  scorn  to 
be  guilty  of  it!" 


LXVII. 

A    NIGHT-WATCH    WITH    A    DEAD 
INFANT. 

MOOKEST  thou  thy  bark  so  soon,  little  voyager  ? 
ILL  Though  those  infant  eyes,  with  a  prophet's 
vision,  sawest  thou  life's  great  battle-field,  swarm 
ing  with  fierce  combatants  ?  Fell  upon  thy  timid 
ear  the  far-off  din  of  its  angry  strife  ?  Drooped 
thy  head  wearily  on  the  bosom  of  the  Sinless, 
fearful  of  earthly  taint  ?  Fluttered  thy  wings 
impatiently  'gainst  the  bars  of  thy  prison-house, 
sweet  bird  of  Paradise  ? 

"  God  speed  thy  flight !  No  unerring  sportsman 
shall  have  power  to  ruffle  thy  spread  pinions, 
or  maim  thy  soaring  wing.  No  sheltering  nest 
had  earth  for  thee,  where  the  chill  wind  of  sorrow 
might  not  blow  !  No  garden  of  Eden,  where  the 
serpent  lay  not  coiled  beneath  the  flowers !  No 
12* 


274          LIFE    AND 

1  Tree  of  Life,'  whose  branches  might  have  shel 
tered  thee  for  aye ! 

"  "Warm  fall  the  sunlight  on  thy  grassy  pillow, 
sweet  human  blossom !  Softly  fall  the  night  dews 
on  the  blue-eyed  violet  above  thee  !  Side  by  side 
with  thee  are  hearts  that  have  long  since  ceased 
hoping  or  aching.  There  lies  the  betrothed 
maiden,  in  her  unappropriated  loveliness ;  the 
bride,  with  her  head  pillowed  on  golden  tresses, 
whose  rare  beauty,  even  the  Great  Spoiler  seemed 
loth  to  touch  ;  childhood,  but  yesterday  warm  and 
rosy  on  its  mother's  breast ;  the  loving  wife  and 
mother,  in  life's  sweet  prime;  the  gray-haired 
pastor,  gone  to  his  reward ;  the  youth  of  crisped 
locks  and  brow  unfurrowed  by  care ;  the  heart 
broken  widow,  and  tearful  orphan,  all  await  with 
folded  hands,  closed  eyes,  and  silent  lips,  alike 
with  thee,  the  resurrection  morn. 


LXVIII. 

A     LITTLE     GOOD     ADVICE.  —  FBOM 

FANNY     FERN. 

"  {  No  person  should  be  delicate  about  asking  for  what  is 
properly  his  due.  If  he  neglects  doing  so,  he  is  deficient  in 
that  spirit  of  independence  which  he  should  observe  in  all  his 
actions.  Rights  are  rights,  and,  if  not  granted,  should  be 
demanded.' 

A  LITTLE  'Bunker  Hill'  atmosphere  about 
that !  It  suits  my  republicanism ;  but  I  hope 
no  female  sister  will  be  such  a  novice  as  to  sup 
pose  it  refers  to  any  but  masculine  rights.  In 
the  first  place,  my  dear  woman,  ( female  rights  '  is 
debateable  ground  ;  what  you  may  call  a  '  vexed 
question.'  In  the  next  place,  (just  put  your  ear 
down,  a  little  nearer)  granted  we  had  l  rights,'  the 
more  we  '  demand  '  'em,  the  more  we  shan't  get  Jem. 
I've  been  converted  to  that  faith  this  some  time. 


276          LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

No  sort  of  use  to  waste  lungs  and  leather  trotting 
to  SiGH-racuse  about  it.  The  instant  the  subject 
is  mentioned,  the  lords  of  creation  are  up  and 
dressed.  Guns  and  bayonets  the  order  of  the  day ; 
no  surrender  on  every  flag  that  floats  !  The  only 
way  left  is  to  pursue  the  *  Uriah  Heep '  policy ; 
look  umble,  and  be  almighty  cunning.  Bait  'em 
with  submission,  and  then  throw  the  noose  over 
the  will.  Appear  not  to  have  any  choice,  and  as 
true  as  gospel  you'll  get  it.  Ask  their  advice,  and 
they'll  be  sure  to  follow  yours.  Look  one  way, 
and  pull  another  !  Make  your  reins  of  silk,  keep 
'em  out  of  sight,  and  drive  where  you  like  !  " 


LXIX. 

THE     OTHER     ONE. 

OOMEBODY    rather    ambiguously    remarks: — 
"  Let  cynics  prattle  as  they  may,  our  existence 
here,  without  the  presence  of  the  other  sex;  would 
be  only  a  dark  and  cheerless  void." 

Fanny  inquires,  in  reply  : — "  Which  'other  sex  ?  ' 
Don't'  be  so  obscure.  Dr.  Beecher  says,  '  that  a 
Writer's  ideas  should  stand  out  like  rabbit's  ears,  so 
that  the  reader  can  get  hold  of  them.7  If  you 
alluded  to  the  female  sex,  I  don't  subscribe  to  it. 
I  wish  they  were  all  '  translated.'  If  there  is  any 
thing  gives  me  the  sensations  of  a  landsman  on  his 
first  sea  voyage,  it  is  the  sight  of  a  bonnet.  Think 
of  female  friendship !  Two  women  joining  the 
Mutual  Admiration  Society ;  emptying  their  budget 
of  love  affairs  ;  comparing  bait  to  entrap  victims ; 


278  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

sighing  over  the  same  rose  leaf;  sonnetizing  the 
same  moonbeam ;  patronizing  the  same  milliner, 
and  exchanging  female  kisses!  (Betty,  hand  me  my 
fan!) 

"  Well,  let  either  have  one  bonnet  or  one  lover 
more  than  the  other — or,  if  they  are  blue  stock 
ings,  let  either  be  one  round  the  higher  on  Fame's 
ladder — bodkins  and  darning-needles !  what  a  tem 
pest  !  Caps  and  characters  in  such  a  case  are  of 
no  account  at  all.  Oh,  there  never  should  be  but 
one  woman  alive  at  a  time.  Then  the  fighting 
would  be  all  where  it  belongs — in  the  masculine 
camp.  "What  a  time  there'd  be,  though  !  Wouldn't 
she  be  a  belle?  Bless  her  little  soul;  how  she 
would  queen  it.  It  makes  me  clap  my  hands  to 
think  of  it.  The  only  woman  in  the  world !  If  it 
was  me,  shouldn't  they  all  leave  off  smoking,  and 
wearing  those  odious  plaid  continuations  ?  Should 
they  ever  wear  an  outside  coat,  with  the  flaps  cut 
off,  or  a  Kossuth  hat,  or  a  yellow  Marseilles  vest  ? 
or  a  mammoth  bow  on  their  neck-ties ;  or  a  turn 
over  dickey ;  or  a  watch-chain ;  or  a  ring  on  the 
little  finger ;  or  any  other  abomination  or  off-shoot 
of  dandyism  whatsoever?  Shouldn't  I  politely 
request  them  all  to  touch  their  hats,  instead  of 
jerking  their  heads,  when  they  bowed  ?  Wouldn't 
I  coax  them  to  read  me  poetry  till  they  had  the 


FANNY    FEKN.  279 

bronchitis  ?  Wouldn't  they  play  on  the  flute,  and 
sing  the  soul  out  of  me  ?  And  then  if  they  were 
sick,  wouldn't  I  pet  them,  and  tell  them  all  sorts  of 
comicalities,  and  make  time  fly  like  the  mischief? 
Shouldn't  wonder! " 


LXX. 

A  PEN  AND  INK  SKETCH. — BY  FANNY 
TERN. 

T\0  you  suppose  .Diogenes  Dinkey  would  know 
his  own  portrait,  if  I  drew  it  ?  It  won't  hurt 
me  if  he  does,  so  long  as  it  is  a  disputed  point 
1  whether  I  be  /.'  Well,  his  proportions  were  de 
cidedly  alderman-ic,  and  his  gait  strongly  resem 
bled  that  of  the  wooden  horses  one  sees  jerked 
across  the  stage  at  the  theat — I  mean  the  museum ! 
Such  a  stiff  dickey  as  he  wore !  What  prevented 
his  ears  from  being  sawed  off  by  it,  was  beyond 
me. 

"Diogenes  was  a  saint  and  an  epicure ;  divided 
his  affections  equally  between  veal  pies  and  vestry 
meetings ;  in  fact  the  former  depended  on  his  proper 
observance  of  the  latter,  as  he  was  supported  by 
sixpenny  contributions  from  humbugged  brethren 


FANNY    FERN.  281 

who  considered  him  a  celestial  luminary.  Of 
course  he  made  his  appearance  simultaneously  with 
the  sexton,  and  kept  popping  up  and  down,  in 
service  time,  like  one  of  those  corn-stalk  witches, 
that  country  children  play  with.  There  was  no 
'  napkin  '  big  enough  to  hide  his  ' talent ; '  he  en 
dorsed  everything  the  minister  said  ;  not  mention 
ing  what  the  deacons  got  off,  and  after  that  he  put 
the  audience  to  sleep  by  chasing  round  some  idea 
of  his  own,  till  he  lost  it ;  and  then  he  sat  down. 
You  didn't  catch  him  raising  any  vexed  questions 
about  'dipping,'  or  'sprinkling,'  or  'high  church/ 
or  'low  church,'  not  he!  he  had  a  real  millennial 
disposition ;  never  raised  any  theological  fences 
he  couldn't  crawl  under,  or  climb  over,  to  pick  up 
windfall  sixpences  to  swell  his  salary  for  the  benefit 
of  his  fellow-creatures  in  general  and  himself  in 
particular.  He  didn't  care  a  torn  hymn-book, 
whether  it  was  a  Baptist,  or  Episcopalian,  or  Uni 
tarian  hand  he  shook,  as  long  as  it  left  a  bonus  in 
his  saintly  palm. 

"  Poor  Diogenes  !  he  was  affected  with  spasmodic 
near-sightedness,  that  always  attacked  him  when 
he  saw  a  Paul  Pry  in  the  distance  who  might  hold 
him  by  the  button  long  enough  to  desire  statistics 
of  the  amount  of  good  he  had  performed.  He 
liked  to  be  inquisitorial  himself;  but,  like  most 


282          LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

persons  of  that  description,  he  was  not  particular 
to  have  the  compliment  returned.  He  had  a  vol 
uminous  robe  of  dignity  he  threw  on,  at  times, 
when  escape  was  impossible,  that  was  very  excru- 
tiating  to  anybody  who  knew  what  was  under 
neath  it. 

"Long  life  to  you,  Diogenes!  I  wouldn't  lose 
you  for  a  bright  sixpence. 

"  I've  attended  many  a  conventicle  where  you 
were  the  chief  attraction  ;  you  are  a  perfect  study 
to 


LXXI. 

FANNY'S   "RULES  FOR  LADIES." 

"VTEYEE,  walk  on  the  Common  ;  it  is  '  vulgar ; ' 
dusty  streets  and  a  chorus  of  rattling  omni- 
busses  are  more  refined.  Never  go  out  in  damp, 
cloudy  or  rainy  weather.  India  rubbers  and  um 
brellas  are  only  fit  for  common  people.  Should  it 
storm  six  weeks  on  a  stretch,  better  ruin  your 
health,  than  appear  in  anything  but  paper  soles 
and  silk  dresses.  When  the  chill  autumn  winds 
blow,  go  out  in  drapery  sleeves,  that  the  wind 
may  have  a  free  pass  round  your  elbows.  Don't 
disarrange  your  curls  by  bowing  to  an  elderly 
person  ;  nor  by  any  manner  of  means  recognize  a 
male  or  female  who  is  not  a  walking  advertise 
ment  for  a  tailor  or  a  milliner. 


284  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

"  Always  whisper  and  laugh,  at  concerts,  by 
way  of  compliment  to  the  performers,  and  to  show 
your  neighbors  a  sovereign  contempt  for  their 
comfort.  When  Betty  is  brushing  your  hair,  or 
lacing  your  boots,  listen  with  avidity  to  all  the 
gossip  she  can  muster ;  it  will  encourage  her  laud 
able  desire  to  take  notes  of  your  establishment  for 
the  benefit  of  her  next  mistress.  Always  keep 
callers  waiting,  till  they  have  had  time  to  notice 
the  outlay  of  money  in  your  parlors.  It  isn't  a 
bad  plan  to  send  a  child  into  the  room  to  act  as 
*  special  reporter  1 '  Always  take  physic  on  Sun 
day,  and  have  a  novel  handy ;  or,  you  can  write 
or  read  love-letters.  Never  on  any  account  go 
into  your  kitchen,  or  know  the  difference  between 
the  manufacture  of  an  omelet  or  an  apple-pie. 
Call  into  your  nursery  once  a  week  to  see  if  Tom 
my's  hair  has  begun  to  curl.  Keep  Betty  till 
one  o'clock  at  night,  sitting  up  for  your  return ; 
and  order  her  to  get  up  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  Keep  as  many  flirtations  on  hand  as 
you  conveniently  can,  without  getting  into  a  snarl. 

Be  just  as  gracious  in  your  manner  to  a  prac 
tised  roue,  (provided  he  has  the  entrance  into  good 
society,)  as  you  would  to  a  man  deserving  a 
woman's  respect.  Dispute  with  your  sempstress 
about  a  ninepence,  and  buy  a  thousand  dollar 


FANNY    FERN.  285 

shawl.  Present  the  bouquet  your  last  admirer 
sent  you,  to  the  next  one  who  looks  into  your 
'  starry  eyes ! '  Dance  all  night,  sleep  all  day,  and 
waltz  with  anybody  who  is  the  '  ton.''  " 


LXXII. 

% 

THE    LITTLE     PAUPEK. 

ITHIS   is  one  of   Fanny's   most  life-like    word- 
paintings. 

"It  is  only  a  little  pauper !  Never  mind  her. 
You  see  she  knows  her  place,  and  keeps  close  to 
the  wall,  as  if  she  expected  an  oath  or  a  blow. 
The  cold  winds  are  making  merry  with  those  thin 
rags.  You  see  nothing  of  childhood's  rounded 
symmetry  in  those  shrunken  limbs  and  pinched 
features.  Push  her  one  side,  shds  used  to  it;  she 
won't  complain ;  she  can't  remember  that  she  ever 
heard  a  kind  word  in  her  life.  She'd  think  you 
were  mocking  if  you  tried  it. 

"  She  passes  into  the  warm  kitchen,  savory  with 
odorous  dainties,  and  is  ordered  out  with  a  threat 
by  the  portly  cook.  In  the  shop  windows  she 


FANNY    FERN.  287 

sees  nice  fresh  loaves  of  bread  and  tempting  little 
cakes.  Kosy  little  children  pass  her,  on  their  way 
to  school,  well-fed,  well-clad  and  joyous,  with  a 
mother's  parting  kiss  yet  warm  on  their  sweet 
lips. 

"There  seems  to  be  happiness  enough  in  the 
world,  but  it  never  comes  to  her.  Her  little  bas 
ket  is  quite  empty ;  and  now,  faint  with  hunger, 
she  leans  wearily  against  that  shop  window. 
There  is  a  lovely  lady,  who  has  just  passed  in. 
She  is  buying  cakes  and  bon-bons  for  her  little  girl 
as  if  she  had  the  purse  of  Fortunatus.  How  nice 
it  must  be  to  be  warm,  and  have  enough  to  eat ! 
Poor  Meta!  She  has  tasted  nothing  since  she 
was  sent  forth  with  a  curse  in  the  morning,  to  beg 
or — steal,  and  the  tears  will  come ;  there  is  happi 
ness  and  plenty  in  the  world — but  none  for  Meta  I 

"Not  so  fast,  little  one!  "Warm  hearts  beat 
sometimes  under  silk  and  velvet.  That  lady  has 
caught  sight  of  your  little  woe-begone  face  and 
shivering  form.  Oh  !  what  if  it  were  her  child  ? — 
and,  obeying  a  sweet  maternal  impulse,  she  passes 
out  the  door,  takes  those  little  benumbed  fingers 
in  her  daintily  gloved  hands,  and  leads  the  child, 
wondering,  shy  and  bewildered,  into  fairy  land. 

"  A  delightful  and  novel  sensation  of  warmth 
creeps  over  those  frozen  limbs — a  faint  color  tinges 


288          LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

the  pale  cheeks,  and  the  eyes  grow  liquid  and 
lovely,  as  Meta  raises  them  thankfully  to  her  bene 
factress.  The  lady's  little  girl  looks  on  with  an 
innocent  joy,  and  learns,  for  the  first  time,  how 
*  blessed  are  the  merciful.' 

"  And  then  Meta  passes  out,  with  a  heavy  basket 
and  a  light  heart.  Surely  the  street  has  grown 
wider  and  the  sky  brighter  !  This  can  scarcely  be 
the  same  world !  Meta's  form  is  erect  now  !  her 
step  light  as  a  child's  should  be.  The  sunshine 
of  human  love  has  brightened  her  pathway  !  Ah, 
Meta !  earth  is  not  all  darkness — bright  angels 
yet  walk  the  earth.  Sweet-voiced  Pity  and  hea 
ven-eyed  Charity  sometimes  stoop  to  bless.  God's 
image  is  only  marred,  not  destroyed.  He  who 
feeds  the  ravens,  bends  to  listen.  Look  upward, 
little  Meta!" 


LXXIII. 

WHAT     FANNY     THINKS     ABOUT 
FRIENDSHIP. 

A  ND  so  you  have  *  the  blues '  hey  ?  Well,  I 
pity  you  !  No  I  don't  either  ;  there's  no  need 
of  it.  If  one  friend  proves  a  Judas,  never  mind  ! 
plenty  of  warm,  generous,  nice  hearts  left  for  the 
winning !  If  you  are  poor  and  have  to  sell  your 
free-agency  for  a  sixpence  a  week  to  some  penurious 
relative,  or  be  everlastingly  thankful  for  the  gift 
of  an  old  garment  that  won't  hang  together  till 
you  get  it  home !  just  go  to  work  like  ten  thou 
sand  evil  spirits,  and  make  yourself  independent! 
and  see  with  what  a  different  pair  of  spectacles 
you'll  get  looked  at !  Nothing  like  it,  my  dear ; 
you  can  have  everything  on  earth  you  want,  when 
you  don't  need  anything.  Don't  the  Bible  say, 
'to  him  that  hath  shall  be  given?'  no  mistake, 
13 


290  LIFE     AND    BEAUTIES     OF 

you  see !  When  the  wheel  turns  round  with  you 
on  the  top,  saints  and  angels !  you  can  do  any 
thing  you  like,  play  any  sort  of  a  prank,  pout  or 
smile,  be  grave  or  gay,  saucy  or  courteous,  it  will 
pass  muster!  you  never  need  trouble  yourself— 
can't  do  anything  wrong  if  you  try  !  At  the  most 
it  will  only  be  an  '  eccentricity  ! '  But  you  never 
need  be  such  a  fool  as  to  expect  that  anybody  will 
find  out  you're  a  diamond  till  you  get  a  showy  set 
ting  !  you'll  get  knocked  and  cuffed  round,  and 
roughly  handled,  with  paste  and  tinsel,  and  rub 
bish,  till  that  auspicious  moment  arrives.  Then! 
won't  all  the  sheaves  boiu  down  to  your  sheaf? — not 
one  rebellious  straggler  left  in  the  field  !  But  stay 
a  little.  In  your  adversity  found  you  one  faithful 
heart  that  stood  firmly  by  your  side  and  shared 
your  tears  ;  when  skies  were  dark,  and  your  path 
way  thorny  and  steep,  '  and  summer  friends  fell 
off  like  autumn  leaves?'  By  all  that's  noble  in  a 
woman's  heart,  give  that  one  the  first  place  in  it 
now.  Let  the  world  see  one  heart  proof  against 
the  sunshine  of  prosperity.  You  can't  repay  such 
a  friend — all  the  mines  of  Golconda  couldn't  do  it! 
But  in  a  thousand  delicate  ways,  prompted  by  a 
woman's  unerring  tact,  let  your  heart  come  forth, 
gratefully,  generously,  lovingly.  Pray  heaven  he 
be  on  the  shady  side  of  fortune — that  your  heart 


FANNY    FERN.  291 

and  hand  may  have  a  wider  field  for  gratitude  to 
show  itself.  Extract  every  thorn  from  his  path 
way,  chase  away  every  cloud  of  sorrow,  brighten 
his  lonely  hours,  smooth  the  pillow  of  sickness, 
and  press  lovingly  his  hand  in  death." 


LXXIV. 

TRUTH       SB  ANGER       THAN       FICTION.— 
RESP  EC  T  FULLY  DEDICATED  TO  JEAL 
OUS    HUSBANDS.  —  BY  FANNY    FERN. 

PERCY,  dear  Percy,  take  back  those  bitter  words  ; 
as  heaven  is  my  witness,  they  are  undeserved 
by  me.  See,  my  eye  quails  not  beneath  yours ; 
my  cheek  blanches  not ;  I  stand  -before  you,  at  this 
moment,  with  every  vow  I  made  you  at  the  altar 
unbroken,  in  letter  and  spirit ; '  and  she  drew  closer 
to  him  and  laid  her  delicate  hand  upon  his  broad 
breast.  '  "Wrong  me  not,  Percj^,  even  in  thought.' 
"  The  stern  man  hesitated.  Had  he  not  ivilfully 
blinded  himself,  he  had  read  truth  and  honor  in 
the  depths  of  the  clear  blue  eyes  that  looked  so 
unflinchingly  into  his  own.  For  a  moment,  their 
expression  overcame  him  ;  then,  dashing  aside  the 
slender  fingers  that  rested  upon  him,  he  left  her 
with  a  muttered  oath. 


FANNY    FEEN.  293 

11  Mary  Lee  had  the  misfortune  to  be  very  pretty, 
and  the  still  greater  misfortune  to  marry  a  jealous 
husband.  Possessing  a  quick  and  ready  wit,  and 
great  conversational  powers,  a  less  moderate  share 
of  personal  charms  would  have  made  her  society 
eagerly  sought  for. 

"  As  soon  as  her  eyes  were  opened  to  the  defect 
alluded  to  in  her  husband's  character,  she  set  her 
self  studiously  to  avoid  the  shoals  and  quicksands 
that  lay  in  the  matrimonial  sea.  One  by  one,  she 
quietly  dropped  the  acquaintance  of  gentlemen, 
who,  from  their  attractiveness  or  preference  for  her 
society,  seemed  obnoxious  to  Percy. 

"Mary  was  no  coquette.  Nature  had  given  her 
a  heart ;  and  superior  as  she  was  to  her  husband, 
she  really  loved  him.  To  most  women,  his  exact 
ing  unreasonableness  would  only  have  stimulated 
to  a  finished  display  of  coquetry  ;  but  Mary,  gentle 
and  yielding,  made  no  show  of  opposition  to  the 
most  absurd  requirements.  But  all  these  sacrifices 
had  been  unavailing  to  propitiate  the  fiend  of  jeal 
ousy — and  there  she  sat,  an  hour  after  her  husband 
had  left  her,  with  her  hands  pressed  tightly  to 
gether,  pale  and  tearless,  striving,  in  vain,  to  recall 
any  cause  of  offence. 

Hour  after  hour  passed  by,  and  still  he  came  not. 
The  heavy  tramp  of  feet  had  long  since  ceased  be- 


294  LIFE     AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

neath  the  window ;  the  pulse  of  the  great  city  was 
still ;  silence  and  darkness  brooded  over  its  slum 
bering  thousands.  Mary  could  endure  it  no  lon 
ger.  Eising  and  putting  aside  the  curtain,  she 
pressed  her  face  close  against  the  window-pane,  as 
if  her  straining  eye  could  pierce  the  gloom  of  mid 
night.  She  hears  a  step !  it  is  his  ! 

"Trembling,  she  sank  upon  the  sofa  to  await  his 
coming  and  nerve  herself  to  bear  his  bitter  harsh 
ness. 

"  Percy  came  gaily  up  to  her  and  kissed  her 
forehead !  Mary  passed  her  hand  over  her  eyes 
and  looked  at  him  again.  No  !  he  was  not  exhil 
arated  with  wine.  What  could  have  caused  this 
sudden  revulsion  of  feeling !  Single-hearted  and 
sincere  herself,  she  never  dreamed  of  treachery. 

"  '  Percy  regrets  his  injustice,'  she  said  to  her 
self.  '  Men  are  rarely  magnanimous  enough  to 
own  they  have  been  in  the  wrong  ; '  and,  with  the 
generosity  of  a  noble  heart,  she  resolved  never  to 
remind  him,  by  speech  or  look,  that  his  words  had 
been  like  poisoned  arrows  to  her  spirit. 

"The  following  day,  Percy  proposed  their  tak 
ing  '  a  short  trip  into  a  neighboring  town,'  and 
Mary,  glad  to  convince  him  how  truly  she  for 
gave  him,  readily  complied.  It  was  a  lovely  day 
in  spring;  and  the  fresh  air,  and  sweet-scented 


FANNY    FERN.  295 

blossoms,  might  have  sent  a  thrill  of  pleasure  to 
sadder  hearts  than  theirs. 

" '  What  a  pretty  place,'  said  Mary.  '  What  a 
spacious  house !  and  how  tastefully  the  grounds 
are  laid  out.  Do  you  stop  here  ?  '  she  continued, 
as  her  husband  reined  the  horse  into  the  avenue. 

"  '  A  few  moments.  I  have  business  here,'  re 
lied  Percy,  slightly  averting  his  face,  *  and  you 
dad  better  alight  too,  for  the  horse  is  restive,  and 
may  trouble  you.' 

"Mary  sprang  lightly  from  the  vehicle  and 
ascended  the  capacious  stone  steps.  They  were 
met  at  the  door  by  a  respectable  grey-haired  por 
ter,  who  ushered  them  into  a  receiving  room. 
Very  soon,  a  little  sallow-faced  man,  bearing  a 
strong  resemblance  to  a  withered  orange,  made 
his  appearance,  and  casting  a  glance  upon  Mary, 
from  his  little  twinkling  black  eyes,  that  made 
the  blood  mount  to  her  cheeks,  made  an  apology 
for  withdrawing  her-  husband  for  a  few  minutes, 
4  on  business/  to  an  adjoining  room. 

"  As  they  left,  a  respectable  middle-aged  woman 
entered,  and  invited  Mary  to  take  off  her  hat. 
She  declined,  saying  'she  was  to  leave  with  her 
husband  in  a  few  minutes/ 

"  The  old  woman  then  jingled  a  small  bell,  and 
another  matron  entered. 


296  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

"  '  Better  not  use  force,'  said  she,  in  a  whisper. 
'  Poor  thing !  So  pretty,  too.  She  don't  look  as 
though  she'd  wear  a  'strait  jacket.' 

"  The  truth  flashed  upon  Mary  at  once !  She 
was  in  a  Lunatic  Hospital !  Faint  with  terror,  she 
demanded  to  see  her  husband, — assured  them  she 
was  perfectly  sane ;  to  all  of  which  they  smiled 
quietly,  with  an  air  that  said  *  we  are  used  to  such 
things  here.' 

"  By-and-bye,  the  little  wizen-faced  doctor  came 
in,  and  listening  to  her  eloquent  appeal  with  an 
abstracted  air,  as  one  would  tolerate  the  prattle  of 
a  petted  child,  he  examined  her  pulse  and  mo 
tioned  the  attendants  to  '  wait  upon  her  to  her 
room.'  Exhausted  with  the  tumult  of  feeling  she 
had  passed  through,  she  followed  without  a  show 
of  resistance;  but  who  shall  describe  the  death- 
chill  that  struck  to  her  heart  as  she  entered  it? 
There  was  a  bed  of  snowy  whiteness,  a  table,  a 
chair,  all  scrupulously  neat  and  clean,  but  the 
breath  of  the  sweet-scented  blossoms  came  in 
through  a  grated  window  ! 

u  Some  refreshment  was  brought  her,  of  which 
she  refused  to  partake.  She  could  not  even  weep ; 
her  eyes  seemed  turned  to  stone.  She  could  hear 
the  maniac  laughter  of  her  fellow-prisoners — she 
could  see  some  of  the  most  harmless  marching  in 


FANNY    FERN.  29'i 

gloomy  file  through  the  grounds,  with  their  watch- 
ful  body-guard. 

"  Poor  Mary  !  She  felt  a  stifled,  choking  sensa 
tion  in  her  throat,  as  if  the  air  she  breathed  were 
poison  ;  and,  with  her  nervous,  excitable  tempera 
ment,  God  knows  the  chance  she  stood  to  become 
what  they  really  thought  her !  To  all  her  eager 
inquiries  she  received  only  evasive  answers;  or 
else  the  subject  was  skilfully  and  summarily  dis 
missed  to  make  place  for  one  in  which  she  had  no 
interest. 

"  Little  Dr.  Yan  Brunt  daily  examined  her  pulse 
and  'hoped  she  was  improving — ,'  or,  if  she  wasn't, 
it  was  his  interest  to  issue  a  bulletin  to  that  effect, 
and  all  '  company '  was  vetoed  as  *  exciting  and 
injurious  to  the  patient.'  And  so  day  after  day, 
night  after  night,  dragged  its  slow  length  along, 
and  Percy,  with  the  meanness  of  a  revengeful  spi 
rit,  was  '  biding  his  time,'  till  the  punishment 
should  be  sufficiently  salutary  to  warrant  his  recall 
ing  her  home.  But  while  he  was  quietly  waiting 
the  accomplishment  of  his  purpose,  the  friend  of 
the  weary  came  to  her  relief. 

"'Leave  me,  please,  will  you?'  said  Mary 'to 
the  nurse,  as  she  turned  her  cheek  to  the  pillow 
like  a  tired  child.  '  I  want  to  be  alone.7 

"  The  old  woman  took  her  sewing  and  seated 
13* 


298          LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

herself  just  outside  the  door,  thinking  she  might 
wish  to  sleep.  In  a  few  moments  she  peeped  cau 
tiously  through  the  open  door.  Mrs.  Percy  still 
lay  there,  in  the  same  position,  with  her  cheek 
nestling  in  the  palm  of  her  little  hand. 

"  '  She  sleeps  sweetly,'  she  muttered  to  herself 
as  she  resumed  her  work. 

"  Yes,  dame  Ursula,  but  it  is  the  'sleep'  from 
which  only  the  trump  of  the  archangel  shall  wake 
her! 

"  Mary's  secret  died  with  her,  and  the  remorse 
that  is  busy  at  the  heart  of  Percy,  is  known  only 
to  his  Maker." 


LXXV. 

"DON'T   DISTURB   HIM!" 

"  '  If  your  husband  looks  grave,  let  him  alone ;  don't  disturb 
or  annoy  him.' 

AH,  pshaw !  when  I'm  married,  the  soberer  my 
^  husband  looked,  the  more  fun  I'd  rattle  about 
his  ears.  '  Don't  disturb  him  ! '  I  guess  so !  I'd 
salt  his  coffee — and  pepper  his  tea — and  sugar  his 
beef-steak — and  tread  on  his  toes — and  hide  his 
newspaper — and  sew  up  his  pockets — and  put 
pins  in  his  slippers — and  dip  his  cigars  in  water — 
and  I  wouldn't  stop  for  the  Great  Mogul,  till  I  had 
shortened  his  long  face  to  my  liking.  Certainly 
he'd  '  get  vexed,'  there  wouldn't  be  any  fun  in 
teasing  him  if  he  didn't,  and  that  would  give  his 
melancholy  blood  a  good  healthful  start,  and  his 
eyes  would  snap  and  sparkle,  and  he'd  say, 
*  Fanny,  WILL  you  be  quiet  or  not  ?  '  and  I  should 


300  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES,    ETC. 

laugh,  and  pull  his  whiskers,  and  say,  decidedly, 
{  Not ! '  and  then  I  should  tell  him  he  hadn't  the 
slightest  idea  how  handsome  he  looked  when  he 
was  vexed,  and  then  he  would  pretend  not  to 
hear  the  compliment  —  but  would  pull  up  his 
dickey,  and  take  a  sly  peep  in  the  glass  (for  all 
that !)  and  then  he'd  begin  to  grow  amiable,  and 
get  off  his  stilts,  and  be  just  as  agreeable  all  the 
rest  of  the  evening  as  if  he  wasn't  my  husband,  and 
all  because  I  didn't  follow  that  stupid  bit  of  advice 
'to  let  him  alone.'  Just  imagine  ME,  Fanny, 
sitting  down  on  a  cricket  in  the  corner,  with  my 
forefinger  in  my  mouth,  looking  out  the  sides  of 
my  eyes,  and  waiting  till  that  man  got  ready  to 
speak  to  me  !  You  can  see  at  once  it  would  be — 
be Well,  the  amount  of  it  is,  I  shouWnt  do  it ! 


LXXVI. 

A    MODEL    HUSBAND. 

"  '  A  MODEL  HUSBAND. — Mrs.  Perry,  a  young  Bloomer,  has 
eloped  from  Monson,  Mass.,  with  Levins  C lough.  When  her 
husband  found  she  was  determined  to  go,  he  gave  her  $100 
to  start  with.' 

THAT'S  what  I  call  doing  things  handsomely  !  I 
should  have  taken  that  100  dollar  bill  and 
handed  it  to  Mr.  Levins  Clough,  as  a  healing 
plaster  for  his  disappointed  expectations,  and  gone 
home,  hugging  my  old  man,  and  resolving  to  mend 
every  rip  in  his  coat,  gloves,  vest,  pants,  and 
stockings,  'free  gratis,'  from  that  repentant  hour, 
till  the  millennial  day.  I'd  hand  him  his  cigar- 
case  and  slippers,  put  away  his  cane,  hang  up  his 
coat  and  hat,  trim  his  beard  and  whiskers,  give 
him  the  strongest  cup  of  tea,  and  the  brownest 
slice  of  toast,  and  all  'the  dark  meat'  of  the 


302          LIFE    AND     BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

turkey.  I'd  wink  at  his  sherry  cobblers,  and 
whiskey  punches,  and  mint  juleps.  I'd  help  him 
get  a  '  ten  strike '  at  ninepins.  I'd  give  him  a 
'  night-key, '  and  be  perfectly  oblivious  what  time 
in  the  small  hours  he  tumbled  into  the  front  entry. 
I'd  pet  all  his  stupid  relatives,  and  help  his 
country  friends  to  'beat  down'  the  city  shop 
keepers'  prices.  I'd  frown  at  all  offers  of  '  pin 
money.'  I'd  let  him  sit  and  '  smoke '  in  my  face 
till  I  was  as  brown  as  a  herring,  and  my  eyes 
looked  as  if  they  were  bound  with  pink  tape ; 
and  I'd  invite  that  widow  Delilah  Wilkins  to 
dinner,  and  run  out  to  do  some  shopping,  and  stay 
away  till  tea-time.  Why !  there's  nothing  I 
wouldn't  do  for  him  —  he  might  have  knocked 
me  down  with  a  feather,  after  such  a  piece  of  magna 
nimity.  That  *  Levins  Clough '  could  stand  no 
more  chance  than  a  woodpecker  tapping  at  an 
iceberg." 


\ 


LXXVII. 

WHAT    TO    DO     WHEN    YOU    AKE    ANGRY. 
"  £  When  you  are  angry  take  three  breaths  before  you  speak.' 

T  COULDN'T  do  it,  said  Mrs.  Penlimmon.  Long 
before  that  time  I  should  be  as  placid  as  an 
oyster.  '  Three  breaths  !  '  I  could  double  Cape 
Horn  in  that  time.  I'm  telegraphic  wire  ;  if  I  had 
to  stop  to  reflect,  I  should  never  be  saucy.  I  can't 
hold  anger  any  more  than  an  April  sky  can  retain 
showers  ;  the  first  thing  I  know,  the  sun  is  shining. 
You  may  laugh,  but  that's  better  than  one  of  your 
foggy  dispositions,  drizzling  drops  of  discomfort  a 
month  on  a  stretch ;  no  commuting  whether  you'll 
have  anything  but  gray  clouds  overhead  the  rest 
of  your  life.  No ;  a  good  heavy  clap  of  thunder 
for  me — a  lightning  flash  ;  then  a  bright  blue  sky 
and  a  clear  atmosphere,  and  I  am  ready  for  the 
first  flower  that  springs  up  in  my  path. 


304          LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

ltl Three  breaths!'  how  absurd!  as  if  people, 
when  they  get  excited,  ever  have  any  breath,  or  if 
they  have  are  conscious  of  it.  I  should  like  to  see 
the  Solomon  who  got  off  that  sage  maxim.  I 
should  like  better  still,  to  give  him  an  opportunity 
to  test  his  own  theory !  It's  very  refreshing  to  see 
how  good  people  can  be,  when  they  have  no 
temptation  to  sin;  how  they  can  sit  down  and 
make  a  code  of  laws  for  the  world  in  general  and 
sinners  in  particular. 

"  '  Three  breaths  ! '  I  wouldn't  give  a  three-cent 
piece  for  anybody  who  is  that  long  about  anything. 
The  days  of  stage  coaches  have  gone  by.  If  you 
ever  noticed  it,  nobody  passes  muster  now  but 
comets,  locomotives,  and  telegraph  wires.  Our 
forefathers  and  foremothers  would  have  to  hold 
the  hair  on  their  heads  if  they  should  wake  up  in 
1855.  They'd  be  as  crazy  as  a  cat  in  a  shower 
bath,  at  all  our  whizzing  and  rushing.  Nice  old 
snails  !  it's  a  question  with  me  whether  I  should 
have  crept  on  at  their  pace  if  I  had  been  a  cotem- 
porary.  Christopher  Columbus  would  have  dis 
covered  the  New  World  much  quicker  than  he 
did  had  I  been  at  his  elbow." 


LXXVIII. 

THE  EARLY  BLIGHT. — BY  FANNY  FERN. 

11 1  As  Love's  wild  prayer,  dissolved  in  air, 

Her  woman's  heart  gave  way, — 
But  the  sin  forgiven,  by  Christ  in  Heaven — 
By  man  is  curs't  alway.' 

AH,  do  not  speak  so  harshly  of  her,  Aunt  Nancy  ! 
If  you  could  see  how  sorrowfully  she  looks 
upon  that  beautiful  boy  —  how  she  starts  at  the 
sound  of  a  strange  voice — how  hopelessly  she  sits 
with  her  large  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground,  hour 
after  hour, — ;so  young  and  so  beautiful,  too  !  ; 

"  '  Yes,  yes,'  broke  in  Aunt  Nancy ;  '  I  dare  say ! 
they're  always  beautiful.  I  tell  you  there's  no 
mercy  for  her  in  this  world,  or  t'other,  as  I  knows 
on,'  and  the  indignant  spinster  drew  up  her  long 
crane  neck.  *  "Why  didn't  she  behave  as  she 
oughter  ?  Did  you  ever  hear  a  word  said  against 
me  ?  Beauty  is  nothing ;  behavior  is  everything.' 


306  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

"  l  But  Aunt  Nancy ' 

"'Don't  'but'  me;  I  tell  you  I  won't  have 
anything  to  do  with  her — such  a  thing  as  she  is !  ' 

"What  crushing  words  to  fall  upon  a  broken 
heart!  for  Leila's  quick  ear  had  caught  them. 
Her  features  grew  rigid  and  pallid,  and  little  Ru 
dolph,  frightened  at  their  expression,  climbed 
timidly  to  her  lap. 

"  Leila's  heart  was  full  of  bitterness — those  cruel 
words  yet  rang  in  her  ears ;  and,  for  once,  she 
pushed  him  rudely  from  her, — then  the  mother 
triumphed ;  and  drawing  him  with  a  caressing  mo 
tion  to  her  breast,  she  sobbed — '  God  pity  us  ! ' 

"  Those  were  long,  weary  hours,  she  passed  in 
that  solitary  chamber,  in  vacant  listlessness,  with 
her  head  leaning  upon  her  hand,  till  poor  little 
Rudolph  fell  asleep  amid  his  toys,  from  very  weari 
ness, — then  she  would  rouse  herself,  tie  on  his  little 
hat,  and  wander  out  into  the  green  fields — on,  on 
— as  if  trying  to  be  rid  of  herself!  But  there  was 
no  healing  balm  in  nature.  Just  such  sunny  days, 
alas!  had  dawned  on  her  before,  when  her  sky 
was  pure  and  cloudless.  She  accepted  mechani 
cally  the  little  field-flowers  that  Rudolph  placed 
in  her  hand.  Those  eyes  !  that  brow !  those  curl 
ing  chestnut  locks !  No  father's  hand  was  there 
to  bless  them ! 


FANNY    FERN.  307 

"  Poor  Leila  !  Her  own  sex  pass  by  on  the  other 
side  contemptuously — and  the  other  f  (God  save  her!) 
She  shrinks  nervously  from  their  bold  glance  of 
admiration,  and  repels  scornfully  any  attempt  at 
acquaintance.  There  is  no  bright  spot  in  the 
future,  save  the  hope  that  the  false  promise  made 
in  God's  hearing  to  the  unprotected  orphan  will 
yet  be  redeemed. 

"  Little  Kudolph's  cheeks  crimson  with  fever. 
Leila  says  to  herself,  '  'tis  better  he  should  die, 
than  live  to  blush  at  his  mother's  name,'  and  then 
she  shudders, — for  where  on  the  desolate  earth 
will  she  find  so  loving  a  heart  as  his  is  now  ? 

"  The  young  physician  knows  her  history.  Leila 
answers  his  questions  with  a  cold  dignity ;  but  he 
is  generous  and  noble-hearted,  and  would  scorn 
to  remind  her  by  word  or  glance  of  her  sad  secret 
Fresh  flowers  lay  between  Kudolph's  thin  fingers, 
and  delicacies  unattainable  by  Leila,  are  daily  offer 
ings.  Eudolph  will  need  them  no  longer  !  Leila 
sheds  no  tear,  as  the  look  that  comes  but  once, 
passes  over  that  waxen  face  !  But  she  trembles, 
and  shudders,  as  if  the  last  gleam  of  hope  was 
shut  out  by  the  closing  of  that  coffin-lid.  Even 
*  Aunt  Nancy  '  condescends  to  pity  her,  (at  a  dis 
tance  I ) 

"  Oh,  shame !  that  woman's  heart  should  be  so 


308          LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES,    ETC. 

relentlessly  unforgiving  to  her  erring  sister  !  Who 
shall  say,  in  the  absence  of  a  mother's  angel  watch, 
and  with  a  warmer  heart  than  the  one  that  now  sits 
in  cold  judgment  upon  her,  Leila's  sin  might  have 
been  yours?  Oh, 

'Love  her  still! 
Let  no  harsh,  cold  word, 
Man  !  from  lips  of  thine  be  heard  ! 
Woman  !  with  no  lifted  eye 
Mock  thou  hef  deep  misery '} 
Weep  ye — tears,  tears  alone 
For  our  world-forsaken  one, — 
Love  her  still  ! ; 

"  Lelia  sits  alone — pale  and  passive.  The  young 
physician  approaches  her  respectfully.  Leila  looks 
at  him  with  amazed  wonder,  as  he  would  raise  her 
to  the  dignity  of  a  '  wife.'  Tears  of  happy  pride 
fall  from  her  eyes,  at  his  generous  avowal ;  and  so 
she  thanks  him  with  a  full  heart,  but  says,  sadly, 
1  her  heart  is  ivith  Rudolph's  father  !  '  and  Leila  is 
left  again  to  her  own  sad  thoughts.  She  wanders 
listlessly  about  the  house — she  takes  up  a  newspa 
per,  (scarcely  heeding  what  she  reads  ;)  she  glances 
at  the  list  of  '  deaths,' — it  is  there ! — his  name  ! 
and  it  signs  the  death  warrant  of  his  last  victim  ! 
Leila  falls  heavily  to  the  floor.  Her  heart  is  as  still 
as  his  own !  Betrayer  and  betrayed  shall  meet 
again  ;  and  God  shall  be  the  Judge  I" 


LXXIX. 

THERE'S  ROOM  ENOUGH  FOR  ALL. 

l' {  What  need  of  all  this  fuss  and  strife, 

Each  warring  with  his  brother  ? 
Why  should  we  in  the  crowd  of  life, 

Keep  trampling  down  each  other  ? 
Is  there  no  goal  that  can  be  won, 

Without  a  fight  to  gain  it  ? 
No  other  way  of  getting  on, 

But  grappling  to  obtain  it  ?  ' 

\TO,  my  gracious !  no !  We  have  to  fight  like 
ten  thousand ;  contest  every  inch  of  ground ; 
and  if  you  get  one  step  forward  of  your  neighbor; 
envy  and  malice  will  be  on  your  skirts  in  a  twink 
ling  ;  trying  to  hoist  themselves  up,  or  pull  you 
down — they  are  not  particular  which.  For  every 
laurel  you  earn,  you  will  gain  the  everlasting  hate 
of  every  distanced  competitor ;  not  that  they  won't 


310  LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES    OF 

smile  and  congratulate  you ;  but  Judas  left  a  few 
descendants,  when  he  'went  to  his  own  place/ 

"  'Room  enough  for  all?  '  not  ~by  a  hemisphere  ! 
For  every  crumb  Dame  Fortune  tosses  out  of  her 
lap,  there's  a  regular  pitched  battle  and  no  place 
to  fight  in.  Well,  if  your  blood  leaps  through 
your  veins  as  it  ought,  instead  of  putting  your 
thumbs  in  your  mouth  and  whining  about  it,  you'll 
just  set  your  teeth  together,  make  a  plunge  for 
your  share  of  the  spoils,  and  hold  on  to  it  after  you 
get  it,  too  !  My  gracious,  yes.  Peace,  and  love, 
and  harmony  are  very  pretty  things,  no  doubt,  but 
you  don't  see  'eni  often  in  this  latitude  and  lon 
gitude. 

"Well,  there's  no  help  for  it.  You  just  go 
pussy-cat-ting  through  creation  once,  with  velvet 
claws,  and  see  what  lean  ribs  you'll  have  to  show 
for  it!  At  the  mercy  of  every  little  pinafore  ruf 
fian  that  knows  English  enough  to  cry  '  scat ! ' 

"If  you  earn  anything  beside  cat-mj;»s,  I  hope 
you'll  come  and  tell  me  !  No — I'm  persuaded  it's 
no  use  to  talk  through  your  nose,  and  look  sancti 
fied  ;  male  and  female  Moses-es  always  get  imposed 
upon.  Besides,  you  heathen,  if  you  look  in  Gen 
esis,  you'll  find  yourself  a  fore-ordained  victim — 
no  dodging  the  curse.  '  By  the  sweat  of  your 
brow,'  yon  must  earn  your  bread  and  butter.  The 


FANNY    FERN.  311 

old  serpent  who  fetched  it  on  us,  knows  we  are  all 
fulfilling  our  destiny  !  Eve  wasn't  smart  about 
that  apple  business.  I  know  forty  ways  /  could 
have  fixed  him  —  without  burning  my  fingers, 
either.  It  makes  me  quite  frantic  to  think  I  lost 
such  a  prime  chance  to  circumvent  the  old  sinner ! 


LXXX. 

THE  CROSS  AND  THE  CKOWN. 

A  EE  there  no  martyrs  of  whom  the  world  never 
hears?  Are  there  no  victories  save  on  the 
battle-field  ?  Are  there  no  triumphs  save  where 
one  can  grasp  earth's  laurel  crown  ?  See  you.  none 
who  rise  early  and  sit  up  late,  and  turn  with  a 
calm,  proud  scorn  from  a  gilded  fetter  to  honest  toil  ? 
Pass  you  never  in  your  daily  walks,  slight  forms 
with  calm  brows,  and  mild  eyes,  whose  whole  life 
has  been  one  prolonged  self-struggle  ?  Lip,  cheek 
and  brow  tell  you  no  tale  of  the  spirit's  unrest. 

"  The  *  broad  road '  is  passing  fair  to  look  upon. 
The  coiled  serpent  is  not  visible  amid  its  luxurious 
foliage.  The  soft  breeze  fans  the  cheek  wooingly ; 
laden  with  the  music  of  happy,  careless  idlers. 
Youth,  and  bloom,  and  beauty;  ay!  even  silver 
hairs  are  there!  No  tempest  lowers;  the  sky  is 


FANNY    FERN.  313 

clear  and  blue.  What  stays  yonder  slender  foot? 
Why  pursue  so  courageously  the  thorny,  rugged, 
stumbling  path  ?  The  eye  is  bright ;  the  limbs  are 
round  and  graceful;  the  blood  flows  warm  and 
free ;  the  shining  hair  folds  softly  away  from  a 
pure,  fair  brow ;  there  are  sweet  voices  yonder  to 
welcome !  there  is  an  INWARD  voice  to  hush  !  there 
are  thrilling  eyes  flier et  to  bewilder!  What  stays 
that  slender  foot? 

"  Ah  !  The  footprints  of  Calvary's  SUFFERER 
are  in  that  ''narrow  path!'  That  youthful  head 
bends  low  and  unshrinkingly  to  meet  its  '  crown 
of  thorns.'  The  '  Star  in  the  East '  shines  far  above 
those  rugged  heights,  on  which  its  follower  reads : 
— '  To  him  that  OVERCOMETH,  will  I  give  to  eat  of 
the  Tree  of  Life  1 ' 

"  Dear  reader,  for  a  brief  day,  the  CROSS ;  for 
uncounted  ages,  the  CROWN  !  " 
14 


LXXXI. 

TOM    FAY'S    SOLILOQUY. 


iC  i 


Most  any  female  lodger  up  a  stair. 
Occasions  thought  in  him  who  lodges  under.' 

TTvON'T  they,  though  ?  Not  a  deuced  thing  have 
I  been  able  to  do  since  that  little  gipsy  took 
the  room  overhead,  about  a  week  ago !  Pat — pat 
— pat,  go  those  little  feet  over  the  floor,  till  I  am 
as  nervous  as  a  cat  in  a  china  closet,  (and  confound 
ed  pretty  they  are,  too,  for  I  caught  sight  of  'em 
going  up  stairs.)  Then  I  can  hear  her  little 
rocking-chair  creak,  as  she  sits  there  sewing,  and 
she  keeps  singing,  '  Love  not — love  not,'  (just  as  if 
a  fellow  could  help  it.)  Wish  she  wasn't  quite  so 
pretty ;  it  makes  me  decidedly  uncomfortable. 
Wonder  if  she  has  any  great  six-footer  of  a 
brother,  or  cousin  with  a  sledge-hammer  fist? 
Wish  I  was  her  washerwoman,  or  the  little  nigger 


FANNY     FERN.  315 

who  brings  her  breakfast ;  wish  she'd  faint  away 
on  the  stairs  ;  wish  the  house  would  catch  fire  to 
night  !  Here  I  am,  in  this  great  barn  of  a  room 
(all  alone ;)  chairs  and  things  set  up  square  against 
the  wall ;  no  little  feminine  fixins  round ;  I  shall 
have  to  buy  a  second-hand  bonnet,  or  a  pair  of  little 
gaiter-boots,  to  cheat  myself  into  the  delusion 
that  there's  two  of  us !  Wish  that  little  gipsy 
wasn't  as  shy  as  a  rabbit  ?  I  can't  meet  her  on 
the  stairs  if  I  die  for  it ;  I've  upset  my  inkstand 
a  dozen  times,  hopping  up,  when  I  thought  I  heard 
her  coming.  Wonder  if  she  knows  (when  she  sits 
vegetating  there,)  that  Shakspeare,  or  Sam  Slick, 
or  somebody  says,  that  '  happiness  is  born  a  twin  ?  ' 
'cause  if  she  don't,  I'm  the  missionary  that  will  en 
lighten  her?  Wonder  if  she  earns  her  living, 
(poor  little  soul !)  It's  time  I  had  a  wife,  by  Chris 
topher  !  (Sitting  there,  pricking  her  pretty  little 
fingers  with  that  murderous  needle  !)  If  she  was 
sewing  on  my  dickeys,  it  would  be  worth  while 
now.  Thafs  it — by  Jove !  I'll  get  her  to  'make 
me  some  dickeys — don't  want  'em  any  more  than 
Satan  wants  holy  water,  but  that's  neither  here  nor 
there.  I  shall  insist  upon  her  taking  the  measure 
of  my  throat  (bachelors  have  a  right  to  be  fussy.) 
There's  a  pretty  kettle  of  fish,  now;  either  she'll 
have  to  stand  on  a  cricket,  or  I  shall  have  to  get  on 


316  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

my  knees  to  her  !  Solomon  himself  couldn't  fix 
any  thing  better ;  deuce  take  me,  if  I  couldn't  say 
the  right  thing  then  I  This  fitting  dickeys  is  a 
work  of  time,  too.  Dickeys  isn't  to  be  got  up  in  a 
hurry. 

"  Halloo!  there's  the  door-bell!  there's  a  great 
big  trunk  dumped  down  in  the  entry !  '  Is  Mrs. 
Legare  at  home  ?  '  M-r-s.  Legare  ?  !  I  like 
that,  now !  Have  I  been  in  love  a  whole  week 
with  M-K-S.  Legare  ?  Never  mind,  may  be  she's  a 
widow!  Tramp,  tramp,  come  those  masculine 
feet  up  stairs — (handsome  fellow,  too !)  N-e-b-u- 
c-h-a-d-n-ezzar !  If  I  ever  heard  a  kiss  in  my  life, 
I  heard  one  then !  I  won't  stand  it  I — it's  an 
invasion  of  my  rights.  I'll  listen  at  the  door,  as  I 
am  a  sinner  !  *  My  dear  husband ! ! ! ' — p-h-e-w  ! 
What  right  have  sea-captains  on  shore,  I'd  like  to 
know  ?  Confound  it  all !  "Well,  I  always  knew 
women  weren't  worth  thinking  of;  a  set  of  de 
ceitful  little  monkeys ;  changeable  as  a  rainbow, 
superficial  as  parrots,  as  full  of  tricks  as  a  conjuror, 
stubborn  as  mules,  vain  as  peacocks,  noisy  as 
magpies,  and  full  of  the  '  old  Harry '  all  the  time  ! 
There's  'Delilah,'  now;  didn't  she  take  the 
1  strength'  out  of  Sampson  ? — and  weren't  '  Sisera' 
and  'Judith'  bom  fiends?  And  didn't  the  little 
minx  of  an  Herodias  dance  John  the  Baptist's  head 


FANNY    FERN.  317 

off?     Didn't  Sarah   'raise   Gain1  with.  Abraham, 

till  he  packed  Hagar  off?     Then  there  was 

(well,  the  least  said  about  HER,  the  better !)  but 
didn't  Eve,  the  foremother  of  the  whole  concern, 
have  one  talk  too  many  with  the  old  '  serpent  ? '  OF 
course ;  (she  didn't  do  nothing  else !  /)  Glad  I 
never  set  my  young  affections  on  any  of  'em ! 
Where's  my  cigar-case  !  How  tormented  hot  this 


LXXXII. 

A    CHAPTER     ON    CLERGYMEN. 

H,  walk  in,  Mr.  Jones,  walk  in ;  a  minister's 
time  isn't  of  much  account.  He  ought  to  ex 
pect  to  be  always  ready  to  see  his  parishioners. 
What's  the  use  of  having  a  minister,  if  you  can't 
use  him?  Never  mind  scattering  his  thoughts  to 
the  four  winds,  just  as  he  gets  them  glowingly- 
concentrated  on  some  sublime  subject ;  that's  a 
trifle.  He's  been  through  college,  hasn't  he? 
Then  he  ought  to  know  a  thing  or  two ;  and  be 
able  to  take  up  the  thread  of  his  argument  where 
he  laid  it  down ;  else  where's  the  almighty  differ 
ence  between  him  and  a  layman  ?  If  he  can't 
make  a  practical  use  of  his  Greek  and  Latin  and 
Theology,  he  had  better  strip  off  his  black  coat, 
unshaJce  his  '  right  hand  of  fellowship,'  and  throw 
up  his  commission.  Take  a  seat,  Mr.  Jones ;  talk 


FANNY    FB-RN.  319 

to  him  about  your  crops ;  make  him  plough  over 
a  dozen  imaginary  fields  with  you  ;  he  ought  to  be 
able  to  make  a  quick  transit  from  '  predestination ' 
to  potatoes.  Why,  just  think  of  the  man's  salary 
— and  you  helping  to  pay  it!  Nebuchadnezzar! 
haven't  you  hired  him,  soul  and  body  ?  He  don't 
belong  to  himself  at  all,  except  when  he's  asleep. 
Mind  and  give  him  a  little  wholesome  advice  before 
you  leave;  inquire  how  many  pounds  of  tea  he 
uses  per  week,  and  ask  him  how  he  came  to  be  so 
unclerical  as  to  take  a  ride  on  horseback  the  other 
day ;  and  how  much  the  hostler  charged  him  for 
the  animal,  and  whether  he  went  on  a  gallop,  or  a 
canter,  or  an  orthodox  trot?  Let  him  know, 
very  decidedly,  that  ministers  are  not  expected  to 
have  nerves,  or  head-aches,  or  side-aches,  or  heart 
aches.  If  they  get  weary  writing  (which  they've 
no  business  to,)  let  them  go  down  cellar  and  chop 
some  wood.  As  to  relaxation  suggestive  of  beau 
tiful  thoughts,  which  a  gallop  on  a  fleet  horse 
through  the  country  might  furnish,  where  the 
aweet  air  fans  the  aching  temples  caressingly, 
where  fields  of  golden  grain  wave  in  the  glad 
sunlight,  where  the  blended  beauty  of  sky  and 
sea,  and  rock  and  river,  and  hill  and  valley, 
send  a  thrill  of  pleasure  through  every  inlet  of  the 
soul — pshaw!  that's  all  transcendental  nonsense, 


320          LIFE     AND'  BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

fit  only  for  green  boarding-school  girls  and  silly 
scribbling  women, — a  minister  ought  to  be  above 
such  things;  and  have  a  heart  as  tough  as  the  doc 
trine  of  election.  He  ought  to  be  a  regular  theo 
logical  sledge-hammer,  always  sharpened  up,  and 
ready  to  do  execution  without  any  unnecessary 
glitter,  That's  it ! 

"  Fact  is,  Mr.  Jones,  (between  you  and  I  and  the 
vestry  door,)  it  is  lucky  there  are  some  philan 
thropic  laymen  like  yourself  who  are  willing  to 
look  after  these  ministers.  It's  the  more  generous 
in  you  because  we  are  all  aware  it's  a  thing  you 
don't  take  the  slightest  pleasure  in  doing  (?)  You 
may  not  get  your  reward  for  it  in  this  world, 
but  if  you  don't  in  the  next,  I  shall  make  up  my 
mind,  that  Lucifer  is  remiss  in  his  duty/' 


LXXXIII. 

FANNY    FEKN    ON     HUSBANDS. 

"  '  Husbands  should  by  all  means  assist  their  wives  in  mak 
ing  home  happy,  and  strive  to  preserve  the  hearts  they  have 
won.  When  you  return  from  your  daily  avocations,  meet 
your  beloved  with  a  smile  of  joy  and  satisfaction — take  her 
by  the  hand — imprint  an  affectionate  kiss  upon  her  lips.' 

TSN'T  that  antimonial  ?    Don't  you  do  any  such 

"  thing !     If  you've  made  a  married  woman  of 

her,  I'd  like  to  know  if  that  isn't  an  honor  that  she 

might  spend  a  life-time  trying  to  repay  you  for ; 

and  come  out  at  the  little  end  of  the  horn  at  that  ? 

"  Land  of  love !  there's  many  a  woman  dies  of 

'hope  deferred.'     Put  that  in  her  ear.     Ask  her 

what  in  mercy  she  thinks  would  have  become  of 

her,  if  you  hadn't  taken  pity  on  her.     Make  her 

sensible  of  her  beatified  condition.     Just  tell  her 

that  any  '  little  favor '  you  do  for  her  now,  is  an 

14* 


322  LIFE    AND    BEAUTIES    OF 

extra  touch  of  philanthropy ;  that  you  may  possi 
bly  go  whole  days  without  noticing  her  at  all — 
except  to  stow  away  the  food  she  prepares  for 
you  ; — that,  as  to  thanking  her  for  every  button 
she  sews  on,  Caesar !  the  boot  is  on  the  other  foot ! 
and  should  she  lose  her  beauty  or  get  sickly,  of 
course  she  can't  expect  you'll  care  as  much  for  her 
as  when  she  was  bran-new — the  idea  is  absurd. 
She  has  no  business  to  grow  ugly  ;  and  as  to  sick 
ness,  it  would  be  stepping  off  your  pedestal  to  be 
puttering  round,  inquiring  whether  your  wife's 
gruel  was  furnished  at  the  right  time  or  not ;  you've 
got  other  things  to  do,  of  more  importance ;  such 
as  betting  on  elections,  peeping  into  concerts  and 
theatres,  and  so  forth. 

"  '  He  might  take  me,  too.'  You  nonsensical 
little  nuisance !  In  the  first  place — he — he — he — 
well,  the  upshot  of  it  is,  he  don't  want  you!  it 
would  spoil  all  his  fun.  So  just  sit  down  in  your 
rocking-chair  and  contemplate  your  stocking-bas 
ket  ;  and  if  your  spirits  droop  for  change  of  scene, 
for  a  kind  word,  or  a  loving  glance — that's  noth 
ing !  You  can  die  any  time  you  get  ready ;  he 
will  stop  mourning  for  you  long  before  the  weed 
on  his  hat  gets  rusty.  Besides,  the  world  is  full 
of  women — a  real  crowd  of  'em ;  lie  knows  that 


FANNY    FERN.  323 

well  enough  ;  dare  say  he'd  be  obliged  to  you  to 
pop  off.     *  Yariety  is  the  spice  of  life.' 

"  So  there's  the  map  before  you,  my  dear. 
Thafs  all  there  is  of  Life.  If  you've  got  married, 
you've  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  hill — so  now  you 
can  do  as  the  rest  of  the  wives  do — stand  still  and 
crow  a  little  while;  and  then  commence  your 
descent.  ISTo  new  discoveries  to  be  made  that  I 
know  of.  Cry,  if  you  feel  like  it — pocket  handker 
chiefs  are  only  ninepence  a-piece  now." 


LXXXIV. 


MATTERS. 

" '  The  Military  Argus  has  a  long  and  prosy  article 
headed  '  How  to  make  Home  Happy.'  A  friend  of  ours  has 
now  a  work  in  preparation,  which  solves  the  question — '  It  is 
to  give  your  wife  as  much  money  as  she  asks  for.'  This 
entirely  abolishes  the  necessity  of  kisses  and  soft  sawder.' 

True  Flag,  Aug.  28. 

"HETTY  !  throw  up  the  windows,  loosen  my  belt, 

and  bring  me  my  vinaigrette ! 
"It's  no  use  to  faint,  or  go  into  hysterics,  because 
there's  nobody  here  just  now  that  understands  my 

case  !  but  I'd  have  you  to  understand,  sir (fan 

me,  Betty !)  that o-o-h  ! that (Julius 

Caesar,  what  a  Hottentot !)  that  if  you  have  a  wife 
as  is  a  wifej  neither  *  kisses,'  (  soft  sawder,'  or 
'  money,'  can  ever  repay  her  for  what  she  is  to 
you ! 


FANNY    FERN.  325 

"  Listen  to  me  !  Do  you  remember  when  you 
were  sick  ?  Who  tip-toe-d  round  your  room,  ar 
ranging  the  shutters  and  curtain-folds  with  an 
instinctive  knowledge  of  light,  to  a  ray,  that  your 
tortured  head  could  bear?  Who  turned  your 
pillow  on  the  cool  side,  and  parted  the  thick, 
matted  locks  from  your  hot  temples  ?  Who  moved 
glasses  and  spoons  and  phials  without  collision  or 
jingle  ?  Who  looked  at  you  with  a  compassionate 
smile,  when  you  persisted  you  '  wouldn't  take  your 
medicine  because  it  tasted  so  bad ; '  and  kept  a 
sober  face,  when  you  lay  chafing  there  like  a 
caged  lion,  calling  for  cigars  and  newspapers,  and 
mint-juleps,  and  whiskey  punches  ?  Who  migra 
ted,  unceasingly  and  uncomplainingly,  from  the 
big  baby  before  her  to  the  little  baby  in  the  cradle, 
without  sleep,  food,  or  rest  ?.  Who  tempted  your 
convalescent  appetite  with  some  rare  dainty  of  her 
own  making,  and  got  fretted  at  because  there  was 
'  not  sugar  enough  in  it  ?  '  Who  was  omnipresent 
in  chamber,  kitchen,  parlor  and  nursery,  keeping 
the  domestic  wheels  in  motion  that  there  should 
be  no  jar  in  the  machinery  ?  Who  oiled  the 
creaking  door,  that  set  your  quivering  nerves  in  a 
twitter?  Who  ordered  tan  to  be  strewn  before 
the  house,  that  your  slumbers  might  be  unbroken 
by  noisy  carriage  wheels  ?  Who  never  spoke  of 


326          LIFE 

weary  feet  or  shooting  pains  in  the  side,  or  chest, 
as  she  toiled  up  and  down  stairs  to  satisfy  imagi 
nary  wants,  that  '  nobody  but  wife '  could  attend 
to  ?  and  who,  when  you  got  well  and  moved  about 
the  house  just  as  good  as  new,  choked  down  the 
tears,. as  you  poised  the  half  dollar  she  asked  you 
for,  on  your  forefinger,  while  you  inquired  'how 
she  spent  the  last  one  ?  ' 

"  *  Give  her  what  money  she  ASKS  for  ! '  Julius 
Cassar!  (Betty!  come  here  and  carry  away  my 
miserable  remains !)  Nobody  but  a  polar  bear  or  a 
Hottentot  would  WAIT  to  have  a  wife  '  ask '  for 
4 money !'" 


LXXXV. 

A    LETTER    TO    A    SELF-EXILED    FRIEND 
IN    THE    COUNTRY. 

TvEAR  NOKAH:— <  Tell  you  the  news  !  '  Ah, 
I  knew  you'd  come  to  it !  I  was  sure  you'd  tire 
of  your  oyster  life,  up  there  in  the  mountains. 
Pleasant,  isn't  it — after  dandelions  and  buttercups 
have  ceased  to  be  a  novelty — after  you  know  who 
lives  in  the  little  brown  house  opposite,  and  who 
in  the  hut  at  the  end  of  the  lane?  After  you  have 
read  through  that  '  Alpha  and  Omega ?  of  a  coun 
try  library — the  Almanac  !  After  you've  watched 
your  landlady  wash  dishes,  and  feed  pigs,  and 
make  butter, -till  you  are  qualified  to  take  a  diplo 
ma  in  those  branches  yourself!  After  you've 
seen  the  old  rooster  fight  his  hen-harem  till  they 
are  subjugated  to  his  lordly  mind !  After  you've 
listened  to  the  drowsy  hum  of  insect  life,  till  you 


328  LIFE     AND     BEAUTIES    OF 

are  half  a  vegetable  yourself !  After  you  have  seen 
the  old  ricketty  front  door  fastened  up,  when  the 
hens  go  to  roost,  and  every  soul  in  the  house  in 
the  '  land  of  Nod,'  and  you  sitting  at  your  win 
dow,  expiring  for  a  new  sensation,  though  it  come 
in  the  shape  of  a  lightning  stroke,  or  a  tornado ! 
listening  compulsorily  to  the  doleful  doxology  of 
the  cricket,  and  the  base  voluntary  of  the  bullfrog, 
and  lamenting  that  brick  and  mortar  are  unfashion 
able  in  dog-days !  True,  'tis  a  pity — pity  'tis  true 
—that  the  mind  rusts,  while  the  body  flourishes,  in 
the  country. 

"Not  less  to  be  avoided,  is  that  mockery  of  com 
fort,  a  gay  watering-place ;  where  neither  mind 
nor  body  can  remain  en  dishabille  for  one  blessed 
hour.  Where  slander,  and  gossip,  and  humbug, 
reign  triumphant ;  where  caps  and  characters  are 
pulled  to  pieces  by  the  femi nines,  and  the  chart  of 
conquest  is  marked  out  (without  a  shoal  or  quick 
sand,)  by  the  gentlemen.  "Where  half  a  year's  sal 
ary  is  spent  in  a  week  by  the  ambitious  dandy, 
(in  embryo,)  who  gets  laughed  at  for  his  pains  and 
pretensions,  and  returns  with  damaged  pockets  and 
wardrobe  to  his  attic  room,  to  be  dunned  remorse 
lessly  by  tailor  and  laundress  for  many  a  pitiles? 
day.  Where  the  simpering  demoiselle  who  hap 
cried  '  give,  give,'  to  papa's  pocket-book,  till  it  is 


FANNY     FERN.  329 

as  dry  as  '  Gideon's  fleece,'  catches  in  the  net  of 
her  one  hundred  dollar  shawl  and  ruinous  silk, 
some  brainless  fop,  who  finds,  too  late,  that  ' papers 
stocks  '  are — nowhere  ! 

u~No  !  no  !  Commend  me  to  home,  with  all  its 
little  familiar  comforts.  Small  they  may  be,  but 
indispensable.  Your  nice  little  rocking-chair,  where 
you  have  had  so  many  pleasant  reVeries — that 
'  porte  feuille,'  and  the  memory  of  the  friend  who 
gave  it  you,  and  the  thousand  little  mementos  that 
meet  your  eye,  all  suggestive  of  happiness. 

"  Commend  me  to  a  city  home  !  where  my  mind 
can  be  kept  fresh  and  bright  with  interchange  of 
thought  with  gifted  minds,  and  my  heart  warm 
with  loving  words  and  beaming  smiles ;  where  I 
can  put  my  hand  upon  newspapers  and  new  pub 
lications,  before  they  are  spoiled  for  my  reading, 
by  criticisms,  and  reviews,  and  parrot  repetitions  ! 

"And  as  for  * trees  and  fresh  air!'  a  drive  with 
a  friend  through  the  many  beautiful  outlets  from 
our  busy  city ;  or  a  walk  on  our  lovely  Common, 
of  a  balmy  evening,  where  the  fragrance  of  new- 
mown  hay  comes  wafted  from  the  hills  across  the 
river,  and  the  stars  are  mirrored  in  the  clear  depths 
of  the  mimic  pond,  and  the  soft  wind  plays  refresh 
ingly  over  your  heated  temples — then — a  soft,  lull- 


330          LIFE    AND  BEAUTIES,     ETC. 

ing  serenade  'in  the  small  hours,'  and  'rosy  dreams 
till  daylight  f ' 

"'Tell  you  the  news,'  hey?  Well,  the  great 
Daniel's  thoughts,  at  present,  are  upon  fish-line 
and  hook — particularly  the  last  English  hooJc  f  The 
1  Maine  liquor  law '  is  the  main  question,  and  who'll 
*  pay  the  Scot-t?  is  another!  Bread  and  balloons 
have  *riz ;  '  gloves  is  'tight ; '  flowers  '  looking  up  ; ' 
dickies  is  '  depressed  ; '  '  stocks '  is  '  scarce  • '  belles, 
none  '  in  the  market : '  beaux — '  improving  ; '  guar 
dians  '  quiet;1  and  I  am, 

"  Yours,  till  you  get  married! 

"FANNY  FERN." 


THE    END 


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Complete  ia  One  Volume. 

This  work  is  superior  to  the  former  Novel  by  this  lady,  which  had  so  extensive  a  sale 
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"The  Hen-Pecked  Husband."  This  work  has  received  very  nattering  encomiums  from 
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morbid  sentimentality — true  to  life  and  nature  throughout." — iMncaster  Intelligencer 
and  Journal. 

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the  superior  of  its  immediate  predecessor,  ''The  Hen-Pecked  Husband."  The  plot  is 
more  ingenious,  the  characters  are  more  skillfully  painted,  and  the  s-ce-nes  and  incident.1-, 
are  more  exquisite  and  pointed.  The  book  is  tme  to  nature,  throughout,  and  possesses 
a  keen  and  vivid  afflatus,  which  pervades  every  page  like  a  November  atmosphere.  The 
authoress  thinks,  reasons,  describes  and  argues  like  a  true-hearted  and  pure-minded 
woman,  and  if  she  finds  it  necessary  to  deal  a  blow,  does  it  with  the  same  grace  and 
honesty  as  if  she  were  uttering  a  compliment.  Read  the  volume  and  save  it  for  the 
children. 

THE  PRIDE  OF  LIFE.  ByLady  Scott. — This  is  a  powerfully  written  work,  and  those 
who  have  read  the  "  Hen-Pecked  Husband,"  by  the  same  author,  should  purchase  and 
read  this  book. — Philadelphia  Sunday  Mercury. 

THE  PRIDE  OF  LIFE.  A  Novel.  By  Lady  Scott. — This  book  must  not  be  classed 
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pathos  and  refined  sentiment,  and  depicts,  in  a  way  "  to  point  a  moral"  for  the  reader's 
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A  NEW  BOOK  EQUAE  TO  IJDA   IttAY. 

LILY    HUSON: 

AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  AN  ORPHAN  GIRL. 
BY    ALICE    GBEY. 


A  VIVID  life-like  story,  eminently  calculated  to  interest  the  feel 
ings  of  the  reader.  It  will  often  excite  to  laughter,  but  more 
frequently  move  to  tears,  and  alternately  touch  every  sentiment  of 
the  soul.  LILY  HUSON  is  a  tale  of  real  life.  The  characters  por 
trayed,  still  live  and  play  their  part  on  the  world's  stage.  And 
although  Alice  Grey  has  cunningly  concealed  their  real  names  and 
positions,  we  fancy  that  many  of  her  readers  will  be  able  to  see 
through  the  veil  which  hides  their  identity,  and  readily  to  recognize 
them.  We  venture  to  assert  that  no  person  will  read  the  opening 
chapter  of  this  remarkable  autobiography  without  following  the 
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book  for  the  family  library,  LILY  HUSON  will  have  no  superior.  It 
may  be  read  aloud  in  the  family  circle,  and  the  lessons  it  inculcates 
will  sink  deep  into  the  heart,  leaving  good  fruit  behind.  Real  life- 
pictures  possess  more  actual  romance  than  the  wildest  flights  of 
fancy  and  fiction.  Domestic  tales  have  now  taken  a  permanent 
place  in  the  world  of  light  literature.  The  novel  has  become  an 
instructive  book — and  the  former  prejudice  against  it  has  subsided. 
Mothers  now  place  it  in  the  hands  of  their  children,  and  clergymen 
have  been  heard  to  recommend  it  from  the  pulpit.  Among  all  the 
popular  tales  of  the  day — pictures  of  woman's  love  and  suffering, 
of  woman's  courage  and  virtue,  painted  by  woman's  hand — none 
will  be  found  to  possess  greater  attraction  than  the  autobiography 
now  advertised. 

This  work  will  be  published  in  1  vol.  12  mo.  cloth.     Price,  $1,00. 
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THE 

SLATE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

BY  WM.    NORTH. 

"  Who  will  exchange  old  lamps  for  new." 

Arabian  Nights'  Entertainments. 

THIS  strangely  interesting  novel  is  now  ready.  It  will  be 
recollected  that  tbe  author,  long  and  favorably  known  both  in 
Europe  and  America,  as  a  writer  of  extraordinary  power  and 
brilliancy,  lately  committed  suicide,  under  the, most  painful  cir 
cumstances,  almost  immediately  after  the  above  woi'k  was  com 
pleted.  He  was  a  strange  erratic  genius — possessed  of  the  most 
sensitive  feelings,  and  was  unable  to  bear  up  against  the  disappoint 
ments  and  trials  of  life.  Poverty  likewise,  it  is  supposed,  pressed 
hardly  upon  him — since  he  was  a  scion  of  a  noble  house  in  Eng 
land — being  related  to  Lord  North,  Earl  of  Guilford,  and  used,  in 
early  life,  to  wealth  and  luxury.  The  work  in  question  is  in  a  cer 
tain  way  an  autobiography — for  it  is  impossible  to  read  it  without 
perceiving  that  the  hero  of  the  tale  is  the  author  himself.  Like 
Lord  Byron  in  the  CORSAIR,  DON  JUAN,  and  CHILDE  HAROLD,  he 
relates  his  own  strange  life,  and  invests  his  principal  character 
with  his  own  peculiar  sentiments.  Exciting  the  story  is,  some 
times  to  a  painful  degree — and  the  sad  fate  of  its  author  invests 
it  with  singular  interest.  Genius  flashes  forth  in  every  para 
graph,  while  an  almost  morbid  sensibility  pervades  each  chap 
ter.  It  is  a  book  that  read  will  be  remembered,  and  it  bids 
fair  to  become  a  standard  work.  It  is  the  last,  and  undoubtedly 
the  best  of  WM.  NORTH'S  numerous  works.  Orders  should  be 
sent  in  immediately. 

Published  in  1  vol.  12mo.   Beautifully  bound.  Price,  $ 1,00. 
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